


First Day of My Life

by Ride4812



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 70,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29226954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride4812/pseuds/Ride4812
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

Prologue

If he closed his eyes tight enough and tried hard to remember, he could still feel the warmth of the  
sun kissing his skin, see the waves catch the rays and glisten as they broke, smell the salt of the sea  
in the humid, coastal air. He dug his toes into the institutional white sheet, missing how it felt to  
bury them in the silken, fine sand. Slowly running his tongue over his bottom lip, he attempted to  
taste the caramel notes he loved in the tequila he had sipped, while the balmy, breeze tousled his  
hair. He could hear the seagulls and Zev’s horrendously loud laugh, drowning out the sound of  
heavy boots clomping up and down the long hallway on the other side of his wall. He could  
remember what it was like, for a short period of time, to live without a structure boxing him in,  
physical or societal. He missed it all. He missed Mexico.

“Ready to go, Milkovich? Grab your shit,” Special Agent Reyes barked from the doorway.  
Mickey nodded, grabbed his duffle, and followed Reyes out of the building, pulling his jacket  
around his body tighter, shuddering at the bite and bitterness of the cold, February air. Eight  
months in Mexico had thinned his blood. When he had arrived in Virginia in September, he was  
surprised how chilly he found the 62 degree weather to be. Though with time, he had gotten used  
to cold again, he still hated it. He missed being bathed in sunshine, light and bright, “This is it  
then,” Reyes said sliding open the door of the van.

“Thanks for everything, sir,” Mickey said extending his hand and shaking Reyes’. The older man  
looked at Mickey with pride in his eyes. It was hard to believe how far he had come in just five  
months, how prepared he was now. He knew he had it in him, that was never a question. Mickey  
was a quick learner and as intelligent as he was driven. Reyes had been like Mickey when he was  
younger; tough, defensive, lost, becoming an agent at the DEA had turned him around and he  
hoped it would do the same for his mentee, “I, uh, I really appreciate you giving me a shot,” His  
eyes dropped to his boots and he rubbed the side of his nose with his knuckle, “…seeing  
something in me, shit like that.”

Reyes nodded, “The guys in Chicago are lucky to have you on their team. The information you  
got on the Romero cartel allowed them to get Ramos. They’d been after him for a decade,  
Milkovich. You were made for this.”

As the van drove away from Quantico, Reyes words knocked around in Mickey’s head. Was he  
really made for this? When Special Agent Greer had called him out of his cell and brought him  
into Warden Michaelson’s office 18 months ago, he had told him to “fuck off.” Mickey was a lot  
of things, but he wasn’t a narc or rat. They knew that he had grown close to his cell mate Damon  
and Damon was the key to getting the information they needed on the Romero ring to get them  
Ramos. He was penetrable, unintelligent, and trusted Mickey. It wasn’t until they mentioned “Ian  
Gallagher” that he softened, considered it.

Mickey didn’t know at the time that the appeal his public defender had filed was sure to get him  
released, but the Warden did. Michaelson knew that the state didn’t have the evidence to back up  
Mickey’s incarceration, and the testimony of a clinically insane woman wouldn’t keep him locked  
up. He had told Greer that it was only a matter of time before Mickey was released. They had to  
move quickly. Greer and the DEA offered Mickey a deal; Go down to Mexico, work the Romero  
ring, and become a free man. They hadn’t expected that he would impress the higher ups at the  
DEA so much that they’d offer him a job.

“It seems that you have something special with this Ian Gallagher, Mickey,” Greer had said  
leaning his elbows on the desk and leaning forward, “You do this, you’re free to be with him.  
Don’t have to wait another 8-15 years. Think about that.” Free. With Ian. Think about that. He’d  
thought about that for the last 324 days. He’d spent nights and days trying to remember what Ian’s  
strong arms had felt like around him, trying to recount the sensation of his soft lips against his  
own, the power of his hard cock in deep in his ass. All he did was think about that. Being Free.  
Being with Ian.

He remembered that he hardly recognized his voice when he said softly, “I’ll do it.” It was  
tentative, unsure, wavering. They told him the plan, all about the “escape” that really wasn’t, but  
Damon wouldn’t know that. Mickey would leave him on the side of the road at the agreed upon  
place, and the feds would pick him up and bring him back to prison. He hated to set him up, the  
guy was dumb as a box of rocks, but he was nice enough. He didn’t deserve it, but Mickey was a  
scrapper, a survivor. He had to take the opportunity. To be free. With Ian

He told them that if he was going to do it, he’d want to see Ian before he left. He’d want to tell  
him what was happening, fill him in. His request was denied. When it came to situations like this,  
they only shared the information with need-to-know people, and those people were defined as  
family that regularly visited him while he was incarcerated; people who would notice if he wasn’t  
there at their weekly visits.

Svetlana was his only need-to-know person. They were still married at the time. When they called  
her into Warden Michaelson’s office to relay the plan, she hugged him and cried happy tears.  
They allowed them a conjugal visit in a small trailer beside the prison before he embarked on his  
journey. Though there was no physical intimacy between them, Mickey had relished in his  
emotional connection with a person who was slightly less cold and intimidating than the men he  
shared space with in prison. “How is he?,” Mickey had asked picking at the frayed edge of the  
comforter he was laying on top of. He remembered he thought of what had occurred on the fabric  
and dropped it from his fingers, wiping his hands on his orange pants.

“He runs around with a new man every few months,” Svetlana had told, shaking her head in  
disapproval.

Mickey nodded and bit his lip to hold back the hurt, “Seem serious about anyone?”

She shrugged, “Maybe? He is like the wind, sometimes gentle, but often destructive.”

“I need to see him,” Mickey had said, and he felt the words to his bone. The need, the craving, he  
felt that in every bit of his being.

“Then you see him,” She had stated simply, as if it was an easy task to achieve.

So during their conjugal visit, the South Side scrapper and Russian badass had hatched a plan to  
get Mickey his man, complete with cell phone drops, a few guys that owed Svetlana favors, their  
van, and a secret spot.

“What if I ask him to come to Mexico and he says yes?” Mickey had wondered, “What then?”

“He won’t go with you,” Svetlana stated, the words had stabbed Mickey in the heart as soon as  
she uttered them.

“But what if he does?”

“Then you make it work. They need you, these officers, they need you more than you need  
them,” She had told him matter-of-factly.

“And what if he doesn’t come?” The question had been more for himself than for Lana, but she  
answered anyway.

“This is a test, you treat this like a test. You cannot tell him the truth, so you test him. Will he be  
down for you? Will he ride with you? Will he sacrifice for you? This is a test. You treat it as such.  
You keep your goddamn mouth shut and don’t fuck things up. You do not share the truth. You  
treat this like a test,” She had demanded, “and you see if he loves you in this test. You see if he  
passes.”

Mickey nodded. She had said it about a million times. It was a test, because it had to be. It was a  
test that Ian had failed. He shook his head trying to release the memory from his mind and stared  
out the van window at the snow covered landscape passing by as they drove to the airport, a  
blurry sea of white. The flight from Mexico City to Dulles had been his first. He had never had  
any reason to be on a plane before. He remembered being nervous, but not as anxious as he felt  
this time, flying back to Chicago. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes; his life was going to  
change, again. His life was going to shift and re-calibrate, a rebirth, a new purpose. He wondered  
idly if he had more of these adjustments than the average person. He guessed he wasn’t actually  
an average person; these kinds of things didn’t happen to everyday people. He’d long since  
accepted that.

The tightness in his chest didn’t subside until he had disembarked from the plane; his feet flat on  
the ground in Chicago, and saw Zev standing among the crowd in baggage claim. He was holding  
a small cardboard sign with the word “Asshole” scrolled on it in his chicken scratch handwriting,

“Mother FUCKER!” He called to Mickey in his thick Israeli accent. He waved his free hand  
wildly and the rest of the onlookers gave the tall, dark man an array of dirty looks.

Before Zev, Mickey had never really had friends. He had his siblings and Ian. That was it. Zev  
was the DEA agent that was assigned to him in Mexico. He was there every step of the way and  
the two had become close. Now, they were partners and though Mickey loved to give the guy  
shit, he couldn’t be happier.

“Nobody can understand a fuckin’ word you say, prick,” Mickey said allowing Zev to wrap him  
in a hug, but when his friend tried to lift him in the air he got a swift kick in the shins.

“Too far? Alright, too far!” Zev laughed, “Oh I’m happy to see your little mug.” He squeezed  
Mickey’s cheek and the shorter man rolled his eyes and decided that he fucking hated Zev, “Let’s  
get you home, yes?”

“Let’s get me to a fucking bar, then you can get me home,” Mickey replied with a glint in his  
eyes, “For some reason they don’t let you drink at DEA training.”

“It’s because they like to torture us. Believe me, I know all about torture,” He grinned.

Zev was Mossad before he moved to America, and he was an absolute beast of a man. He stood  
6’5” and was built like a bodybuilder. His muscles had muscles. His skin was a deep olive that  
was still a stark contrast to his black hair and scruffy beard. Though he looked intimidating, and  
fuck he could be intimidating, his hazel eyes were kind, open.

“You gotta drop your voice, man. People are fuckin’ staring,” Mickey groused pulling his duffel  
off of the conveyor belt with the rest of the passenger’s luggage.

“Let them look. I got my baby back, everyone!” He yelled loudly, “Got. My. Baby. Back.”

Mickey closed his eyes and attempted to not kill Zev. It would be bad news if he went back into  
the clink for murdering the dumbass. Zev was straight as an arrow, but he found other ways to be  
in love with Mickey. Mickey had never had anyone tell him he loved him as much as Zev did.

“Love you baby, you know I love you,” Zev said companionably slapping Mickey on the back.

“I fucking hate you,” Mickey complained, shaking his head and rolling his eyes, “Can’t believe I  
thought I missed your ass.”

“I know you love the ass, Mick, know you love the ass,” And out came the annoyingly loud  
laugh.

Mickey needed a drink. Stat.

Chapter One: Blankets on the Beach

It had been 26 months since he had last walked down a South Side block as a truly free man. He  
thought it would feel better, more exhilarating, but darkness rested on his shoulders, heavy and  
oppressive. He had dreamed of these very streets while he lay on his prison cot. In his mind, the  
cityscape had been brighter, alight with hope for the future, illuminated by Ian. Now, everything  
looked dirtier, more run down. His eyes had changed after he saw the ocean, so vast and wide,  
cerulean and crisp until it met the sky, blended and fused. He had spent hours just staring at that  
union, wondering where one began and the other ended. He used do the same with pale skin, but  
that was a lifetime ago.

The Alibi looked different, too. Emptier. It was late afternoon and there was no Kermit, no  
Tommy, no Kev. Mickey had spoken to Svetlana over the past several months, so he knew that  
Kev and V had kicked her out after she tricked them into signing over the deed for the Alibi. He  
didn’t blame them, but he always thought they were stupid as hell to not see through Lana. She  
was a survivor; she’d do anything she could do to get ahead. Though her actions were industrious,  
it didn’t look like it was working out so well for her.

She was leaning on the bar, talking to three women who were sitting on stools sipping their  
glasses of wine. When her eyes caught Mickey’s, her breath hitched in her throat. She knew he  
was coming home but seeing him there, unshackled, standing in the middle of the room where he  
had his first taste of genuine freedom all those years ago, was startling, “Mickey,” She uttered  
softly. She fought the urge to run and hug him. Though they had hugged before, it didn’t feel right  
in that moment. Things were going to start settling, becoming normal again in some capacity.

There was no need to emote, not like she had before. She showed her affection by grabbing an  
Old Style and peeling the cap off with her bottle opener. She slid it across the bar to Mickey.

“Where is everyone?” He asked taking a seat on the bar stool. He brought the beer to his lips and  
relished in the taste of the cool, hoppy liquid pouring down his throat, “Get one for him, too.”

Zev sat down next to him and gave Svetlana a charming smile. She narrowed her eyes at him,  
skeptically, “Who are you?”

“Zev, Lana, Lana, Zev,” Mickey introduced half-heartedly. He really wanted to just bond with his  
beer in silence. It had been too long.

“Ah, you are the one who speaks to me on the phone,” Svetlana recognized, her expression  
softening, “Mickey’s Mexico friend.”

“That’s me,” Zev confirmed, “A pleasure to see you in person. I was not expecting you to be such  
an…” He paused and gave her a cheeky smile, “…exquisite beauty.”

“Oh fuck me,” Mickey groaned rubbing his palm against his forehead, wishing them both away.

“Awww, Mick, you know that you’re my number one, baby!” Zev assured him looping his arm  
around Mickey’s shoulder and pulling him in close.

Svetlana’s eyes widened at the action and hummed when she realized Mickey didn’t punch him in  
the face. Interesting, “Mandy is home, like you asked. She lives with me, Yevvy and Iggy, like  
demented family.”

“And she’s helping with Yevgeny?” Mickey asked raising his eyebrows. He loved Mandy, he  
really did, but she got distracted easily, particularly by men.

“Yes, she works at the squirrel head diner. We have alternating schedules. When I work, she’s  
with Yevgeny. It was not a bad idea you had, especially after…” She paused, “The conscious unthruppling.”

“Where’d you hear that shit?” Mickey asked with a smirk.

“I read this in a magazine. I liked it,” Svetlana replied, shrugging.

“And she doesn’t know about me? The DEA?” Mickey questioned. He found it hard to believe  
that Svetlana would have been able to keep it a secret.

“Well…” Svetlana began, prompting Zev to plug up his ears and begin to sing ‘Lalala,’ showing  
that he didn’t want to be privy to any further information. It was of the utmost importance to the  
higher-ups that Mickey’s involvement with the DEA be top secret until he finished his training.

People being aware of his deal would have been an incredible liability for the agency, “When you  
told me to tell her to move home, I told her that you said so. I did not want to act as if I needed her  
help,” Svetlana scoffed as if the idea was ludicrous, “So she asked some questions, about your  
‘prison break’ and such. I just told her, you’d be home soon. I did not say why or how.”

“Fuck, Lana, really?” Mickey huffed his disapproval, shaking his head, “Guess it don’t matter  
now, fucking loose lips. Gonna call you Loose Lips Lana.” He knocked the back of his hand  
against Zev’s chest and the older man dropped his fingers.

“Do I want to know?” He asked Mickey pointedly.

“Nah, you don’t,” He sucked his teeth for a moment, contemplating if he should ask the question  
that was burning in his mind. He didn’t want to, not really, but there was a compulsion that  
pushed him to ask it anyway, “You see Gallagher at all?”

Svetlana sighed. She was used to it. He asked it every time she visited him in prison. He always  
acted like he didn’t give a shit about the answer, but his façade had long since cracked and  
deteriorated, “He comes by a lot to spend time with Mandy and Yev. He’s good with him. Since  
he’s back from your…” she paused, “time together, he does not ignore him anymore.”

Mickey nodded, unsure how to process it. Her answer was more loaded than her usual reply,  
which was offhandedly telling him about Ian jumping from one guy to the next.

Seeing the pain in his friend’s eyes, Zev said “Fuck him, am I right?” and rested his hand on  
Mickey’s back reassuringly.

Mickey didn’t shrug away; he was used to Zev’s touch. He wasn’t a weak man, not in the least,  
but he couldn’t help but wonder how he would’ve made it through all of the pain without Zev.  
For his first few weeks in Mexico, all he could think of was glancing in his rear-view mirror,  
seeing Ian standing frozen, only a few feet, but what felt like hundreds of miles away. Zev was  
loud and opinionated about anything and everything. His presence demanded attention, attention  
that Mickey didn’t want to give. As soon as liquor hit Mickey’s lips, it turned to anger, and his  
rage became words, too many words about Ian and what had occurred. The hope, the rejection, it  
came pouring out of him like a pitcher and Zev was there to drink it all in. It was Mickey that  
grew to need the attention and Zev gave it to him.

The older man was open and compassionate. Mickey tried to forget the nights he’d fucking cry in  
front of another man, a man he hardly knew, but it had been impossible not to since their living  
quarters were small and Mickey was wrecked. But Zev, Zev never judged him. He never did  
anything but love him. He’d tear up as he held him, wishing that Mickey would talk to him when  
he was sober. He’d sit in awe of this broken bird that was so tough by day, but so vulnerable by  
night. The nights were the hardest, that was until, Zev broke the cycle.

“We’re going out,” He had told Mickey before he had found the bottle one night.

“Fuck off,” Mickey drawled.

When it came down to it, Mickey went, because he’d rather just fucking do what the guy wanted  
to rather than listen to him try to convince him. He wasn’t sure if Zev was more persistent or  
persuasive, but whatever he was, it was too much to contend with. So he went that night, the next,  
and the one after that for weeks to come. With time, everything got easier. He’d sit back in his  
chair at their favorite bar on the beach and laugh until his sunburned cheeks hurt, while Zev told  
outlandish stories to the locals.

Sometimes, the loudmouth would act as Mickey’s wing-man, practically pushing him into bed  
with beautiful Mexican men. He’d let himself be kissed and roll around with granules of sand  
embedded in his skin, ruffling up his sheets. None of the men ever meant more to him than a  
moment, but to get lost for even a night at a time was cathartic.

There was never the same physical release with Zev, but their downtime became therapy. As the  
weeks passed by, Mickey talked less, content to just be there; not feeling compelled to pour  
anymore. He was becoming himself again, happy to just watch, take everything in; introverted but  
not withdrawn. They’d lie in the sand at night and drink tequila under the stars until they could  
move past their difficult days. Sometimes Zev would take off his clothes and run into the ocean  
screaming about how beautiful life was, and how lucky they were to be alive. While Mickey  
laughed himself silly at Zev’s exuberance, he began to believe him. He didn’t know if it was Zev  
or Mexico that saved him, but he didn’t suffer every day, not anymore.

Being back on the South Side, he had to remind himself of that. It was easier in the familiarity of  
home to fall into old patterns, get caught in destructive trains of thought. “You ready?” Zev asked  
draining the last of his beer and pulling Mickey out of his thoughts.

“Let’s go,” He nodded. He told Svetlana he’d see her later and jumped into Zev’s car for the short  
trip back to his childhood home. Mickey assured Zev he didn’t need to come in, but the man  
insisted on making sure he was settled, clearly having missed his friend.

He hadn’t expected to be back there, not for a while at least. Just as it always had, the air and  
atmosphere of the house felt lighter with Terry in the can. Of all the challenges in his life, he had  
the least amount of energy to deal with his old man. Lucky for him, Terry was in prison for life  
and Mickey was pretty sure there would be no deal with the DEA for that sack of shit. He felt  
some relief when he realized that nobody was home. All he wanted to do was go in the room,  
close his door and relish in the seclusion that he had lacked over the last 26 months. He kicked  
Zev out and promised him he could come back the next day to meet Mandy and Yev. Mickey  
would be starting work on Monday; two days until he was a legitimate, working man.

His bedroom hadn’t been touched since before he got hauled off to prison. There was a small pile  
of dirty clothes in the corner and a few empty beer bottles on the nightstand. His family knew  
better than to mess with his shit and he was glad for it. There was a certain solace in the  
familiarity. He dropped his bag on the stained carpet and walked across the room, a moth to the  
flame. He ran his finger over the picture, focusing on Ian’s lips and felt emotion rise up in his  
throat. It tasted acrid, sour, tinged with bile. It had been so long since he’d seen his face.

The ‘Ian’ he imagined was beautiful, but actually seeing him, he realized his fantasies never truly  
did him justice. He knew Ian was attractive, both men and women paid him attention, but he  
wondered if anyone saw the redhead like he did. Had anyone else memorized all the curves of his  
face? The softness of his features? How they contrasted with the strength of his jawline?  
Memories of pressing his lips against Ian’s impossibly smooth skin flooded his mind. He  
ruminated on the hours he had spent playfully connecting the dots between his lover’s freckles,  
trying to kiss each one. He shook his head and refocused on the picture, trying not to let the  
reminiscing pull him away. He had always loved that Ian had his middle finger raised in the  
picture; an act of defiance, just enough bad to balance out the good, to make them work.  
He threw the picture down on his bed and reached into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out his  
phone. For the first time in over two years he sent a text message to Mandy:

-I’m home. Lot to explain. I will in the a.m. Don’t fucking wake me. I’m serious. I need to sleep.-

He set the phone on his nightstand. It was only 6:30pm but fuck, was he tired. He felt like he  
could sleep for days. He unbuckled his pants and shook them off. He sighed as soon as his body  
hit the bed. The springs were loud and it was lumpy as hell, but it was his bed. The sheets smelled  
like a mixture of mustiness, dust, cigarettes, and Ian. Fuck. How after so long was his scent still  
there, taunting him? He grimaced as he felt himself harden. He couldn’t help it, it was a chemical  
reaction. He leaned over to open the drawer in his nightstand, pulling out a mostly empty tube of  
lube. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d jerk off thinking of Ian, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the  
last. He was all he ever thought about.

He squirted lube onto his palm and slowly rubbed his hand over the shaft of his cock. His focused  
on Ian’s green eyes staring back at him. This time, like so many times before, he let Ian push him  
over the edge.

Chapter Two: First Face That I Saw

By the time Mickey woke up the next morning, Svetlana had already filled Mandy in on most of  
the story, but she still had questions for her brother which she fired off like a machine gun as soon  
as he entered the living room. Her inquisition didn't end with the first 20 questions, and her energy  
seemed to be recharging as she chugged into the second hour of questioning.

"And why the fuck didn't you tell me?" She demanded, her hands on her hips, standing over  
Mickey as he worked on a puzzle with Yevgeny on the floor.

"Already told you... couldn't. Didn't want to fuck shit up. Couldn't risk it," Mickey replied simply,

"That doesn't go there, right?" He told Yevgeny gently, "Can't just shove it in if it don't fit."

The little black haired boy grunted his annoyance and continued to attempt put the puzzle piece  
where he wanted it.

"This is what she says," Svetlana said with a laugh.

"Yes, just like this," Zev confirmed excitedly from his place on the couch, "It's funny, yes? It  
works after so many statements!"

Mickey shook his head with a smile and Mandy scoffed, "And explain to my why he's here  
again?"

"I'm his man," Zev stated plainly, "Where he goes I go."

"He's my partner," Mickey clarified, tsking at the fact that the statement didn't really portray what  
he was hoping to, "was my go to in Mexico and now we're working together up here."

"And your best friend," Zev reminded Mickey, "don't forget this part. It's the most important."

"And my best friend," Mickey relented.

"Maybe I'm gonna be your best friend now," Yevgeny suggested looking at Mickey with his  
bright blue eyes wide and hopeful.

"Sorry little man, this position is already filled," Zev joked with hearty laugh.

Mickey rolled his eyes at Zev and turned back to his son, "Um, yeah, that sounds good. You can  
be my number one best friend."

"You and Ian are my number one best friend," Yevgeny informed him, "he puts me on his  
shoulders and makes me really tall."

Mickey felt like he had been punched in the stomach by the statement. He hadn't expected to hear  
Ian's name pass through his kid's lips. He knew that Ian was a part of Yevgeny's life, and of  
course the kid loved him, of fucking course. He swallowed down the sickening taste of bile that  
rose in his throat.

"Do you know Ian? He has orange hair, like the fruit," Yevgeny asked innocently.

The tension in the room was palpable as the question hung in the air. Svetlana sat down on the  
ground next to Yevgeny and prompted him to continue the puzzle. When he did, seemingly past  
his curiosity, Mickey sighed a bit, grateful for the short attention span of three year olds, "Gonna  
go out back and have a smoke," He stated, standing abruptly and waking over to grab his jacket  
from where it was hanging on the coat rack.

"You want company?" Mandy asked as her brother bundled himself up.

"Nah, I'm good. Colder than a witch's titty out there," Mickey replied shooting Svetlana a dirty  
look.

"It is nasty anyway. Your pouting does not make me feel bad," She informed him with a shrug.

Svetlana had instituted a 'no smoking in the house' rule, which meant Mickey's pack-a -day habit  
had him braving the cold more often than he'd like. He thought about telling her go fuck herself,  
but decided not to because keeping smoke out of the kid's lungs was probably the right thing to  
do. Maybe the inconvenience would persuade him to quit, or maybe not. He walked out to the  
small backyard, lit up his cigarette and leaned back against the cold bricks of the house. He shook  
his head and silently admonished himself for being so damn impacted by even the mention of his  
name. He had to get it together, sooner or later he would run into him and he wasn't going to be  
some quivering pussy when he did.

He took a deep drag and let his mind wander to when he first saw him after his 'escape.' Ian had  
looked at him with as much awe as Mickey felt. He'd realized he loved the redhead several years  
before, but in that moment he became painfully aware that he was fucking ruined. He'd never love  
anybody else, not like he loved Ian. There was no way another person could light the same fire  
inside of him, leaving him smoldering and burning with devotion. Maybe passion like they had  
could never last; too hot, intense, and overwhelming. Perhaps that's what Ian meant by it not being  
him anymore. Mickey still wondered what 'it' was. Ian had always been good at lying to himself,  
he wondered what he'd settled on that gave him the will to walk away. He'd gotten his life  
together... bullshit. If there was one person in the world he really knew it was Ian Gallagher and  
Ian Gallagher was always just one step away from destruction. It was only a matter of time and he  
should know that as well as Mickey did. One day Ian would need saving again. Mickey hoped  
one of the guys he'd been running around town with was willing to step up. Ian was the most  
beautiful mess, but cleaning up after him took work, guts, grit. He'd like to see any of them  
fucking try. Asshole.

*  
It was frigid as fuck outside. They'd be lucky if it the thermometer hit 10*. Ian tucked his gloved  
hands into his pockets and walked faster, as if his brisk pace could beat the cold. It was 87* in  
Cancun, Mexico. Ian wasn't sure exactly what part of Mexico Mickey ended up in, but he knew  
of Cancun so that's what he'd plugged into his weather app on his phone. He checked it daily and  
the weather was always the same, perfect. Mickey's feet were buried in the sand, the sun was  
kissing his skin, maybe a guy was kissing his skin, too. Fuck. He shook his head willing the  
thoughts away. Mickey was free and warm, while he was trapped and freezing. It wasn't supposed  
to be so cold in hell.

He took the stairs up to the Milkovich house by twos, swung open the door, and shook his  
backpack off so he could pull out hot chocolate packets and a Finding Nemo DVD, "I found  
Nemo, Yevy," He announced as he entered the living room.

"Ian!" Yev exclaimed running up to the redhead and wrapping his arms around his legs. Ian  
reached down to pick Yevgeny up and kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed the hot chocolate  
packet out of Ian's gloved hand, "What's this?" he asked lisping the s's.

"Remember we keep the snake in the cage," Ian reminded him hissing an "s" sound through  
clenched teeth. He had told Sue a few months ago about his concerns with Yevgeny's lisp, which  
seemed to be affecting his speech. She'd talked to her friend who was a speech pathologist and  
gave Ian a few suggestions. It was really making a difference.

"Sssssss" Yevgeny enunciated vocalized.

"Good job!" Ian praised with a proud smile, "It's hot chocolate with marshmallows. Is there any  
other way to have it?" he asked winking at Mandy. She was a marshmallow monster. His face fell  
when he saw the unease on hers, "You alright?" he looked over at a man he didn't recognize on  
the couch and put Yev down gently, "Everything ok?" He glanced at Svetlana whose face had  
similar shades of concern as Mandy's.

"I forgot you were coming over," Mandy began, standing up and walking towards Ian. She rested  
her hand on his elbow, "Listen, it's Mickey."

"What? What's wrong with Mickey?" Ian asked, worry apparent from the expression on his face  
to the cracking of his voice, "Is he ok?"

"He's home, Ian," Mandy replied, "It's a long story and I'll tell you, but not right now, alright?

"I don't understand," Ian said shaking his head, beginning to pace the room, "What the fuck are  
you talking about? Where is he?"

"He smokes out back," Svetlana informed him, shooting Mandy a look of consternation, "Maybe  
you walk Ian home, explain things to him."

Mandy nodded, stopping Ian in mid-step by placing her hand on his shoulder. He looked down at  
her, "He's home?"

"He was working with the DEA to bust up a drug ring. They got him an early release. He's  
home," Mandy said slowly, aware of the wildness dancing in Ian's green eyes.

"And you fucking knew and didn't tell me?" He spat angrily, "He's here and you didn't tell me?"

His voice was louder than usual, startling Yevgeny who made his way to his mother, "Why's Ian  
mad?" He asked as Svetlana picked him up.

"I didn't know," Mandy assured him, "He got home last night. I just found out, too."

"Did you know?" He asked his eyes burning into Svetlana's.

She nodded the affirmative and balanced Yev on her hip, "Yes. I knew."

"And you didn't tell me?" He roared angrily. His face flushing red. He could feel his hands  
shaking. Mickey was home. Free. On the South Side. 100 feet away from him. It was  
overwhelming.

"Couldn't. But if I could, why would I?" Svetlana asked genuinely, causing Ian to scoff and shake  
his head in disgust.

"Calm down," Mandy prompted, "Please, just calm down. We can talk about it. I'll grab my coat."

"No," Ian said vehemently, shrugging Mandy's hand off of him, "I want to see him."

"Ian's scary," Yev cried burying his face into Svetlana's shoulder. She shushed him and soothingly  
rubbed his back.

"No, no, Yevvy, I'm sorry. I'm just..." He walked towards the boy and his mother but stopped  
when he heard a booming male voice.

"Ian, you should go," Zev said standing up, his stature taking Ian momentarily by surprise.

"Who the fuck are you?" Ian asked his mouth clenched tight, chin turned up in opposition.

"Mickey's partner," Zev replied simply.

"Ohhhhh oh," Ian blurted throwing his head back with a wry laugh, "his fucking partner." Ian  
was too far gone to hear Mandy's insistence that it 'wasn't like that.' He could feel the prickle of  
tears burning in his eyes but he willed himself not to cry.

"Ian we should," Mandy began but was cut off by her brother's voice.

"The fuck?" Mickey mumbled as soon as his eyes caught Ian's. They stared each other for a  
moment, both attempting to catch their breath. It was as if they'd each seen a ghost; of their past, of  
their relationship.

"Mickey," Ian exhaled, his eyes glassy and wet, "How?" All of his previous anger and anxiety  
melted away. Mickey was there, standing in the Milkovich living room, free.

"It's a long story, man," was all he could muster as a reply. He wanted to tear his heart out of his  
chest for racing so violently, skipping beats so erratically, for always fucking betraying him. He  
could feel the blood pounding in his ears. He hated that he never just saw Ian, he felt him down to  
his bones. Being in close proximity to him never ceased to illicit a chemical reaction, a physical  
response. He vowed that this time his head would be stronger than his weak, sack of shit heart,  
"don't really feel like gettin' into it."

Ian's stomach dropped down to the floor, a sick wave of nausea crashing over him. He suddenly  
felt hot; his winter jacket, gloves and hat stifling him. He couldn't draw in a deep enough inhale,  
his breath had become too short, too choppy. He felt like he was spinning, falling. Before he knew  
it he was walking towards Mickey. He didn't remember taking the first step, but he was standing  
in front of him. He could hear Mickey's heartbeat as he stared down at him. "I...." he began  
dumbly reaching his hand up to Mickey's cheek, to see if he was real, actual flesh and blood. His  
gloved hand had just made contact when he felt it swiftly knocked away.

"You gotta go, Ian. I'm taking Yevgeny to lunch," Mickey stated bruskly, thumbing his nose  
uncomfortably and averting his eyes from the man standing too close to him.

"I should've called you," Mandy apologized, "I was overwhelmed."

Ian nodded, biting his lip attempting to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill down his  
cheeks, "I'll just go then," he said slowly, his eyes fixed on Mickey, pleading silently for him to  
make him stay. But, Mickey's eyes didn't turn to meet his. He got the message, "ok."

He walked over to where Svetlana was holding Yevgeny and placed his hand gently on his back,  
feeling a tear escape his eyes when the little boy flinched, "Didn't mean to scare you, Yevvy. I'm  
sorry. Think you could forgive me?"

"Daddy's my number one best friend," Yevgeny said quietly. Ian nodded and bit his lip. He  
sniffed as he turned away, practically running out of the house. He could hear Mandy calling after  
him as his feet began to pound on the pavement, the cold air burning his lungs.

Chapter Three: Come Back and Haunt Me

There had been an emptiness inside of him long before he took that Greyhound bus away from the  
border, but that was when the hollowness became more than just a nagging reminder of how  
easily he continued to fuck his life up. Since then the void was infinite with no discernible end  
point, regardless of how much he tried to seal it with work, men, family. Mickey was the only  
person who could fill him up, but for years Ian had pushed him away, fearing that maybe he was  
destined to live with this painful vacuity, worried that somehow he sought the hurt.  
His family wanted to pretend he had his life together. He went to work every day, punched in,  
punched out. He dated, laughed over dinner, spent time with Mandy, with Yevgeny. He had  
replenished some of his savings. He had a fucking 401K. On paper, he was doing well, but how  
could anyone truly exist with a gaping hole inside of them? He was a lack of emotion in motion,  
closed off from his heart, absent from what really mattered. Existing wasn't thriving, living was  
just being alive.

Monica had spent her whole life searching for a way to fill her emptiness. She tried to pack it with  
drugs, men, mania. In the end, years of running had brought her back to where she should've been  
all along. She breathed her final breaths with the only person who ever loved her through her  
never-ending spiral. The man who was consumed by her destruction and driven to occupy the  
space. He was a glutton for punishment, from Monica and of his own making. When it came  
down to it, Frank could never be enough for Monica because he was too selfish, trying to pour  
alcohol into his own chasm.

Ian wondered if witnessing their relationship had fucked him up. In some twisted way, Ian had  
always tried to make Mickey a sadist, constantly provoking him to prove something, to see if he  
loved him and could love him unconditionally. When Mickey had showed him unwavering love,  
Ian kept pushing, looking for the breaking point. He ended up the one broken, alone with his  
desolation.

It wasn't rational, but he knew there was a reason why Monica had shown up while he was away  
with Mickey. He'd spent hours smoking weed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking, trying to  
figure out the connection. What if Monica would've lived if he would have stayed with Mickey?  
What if it was some poetic justice that Monica died at the moment that he did? He came back to  
Chicago a zombie, the living dead, hardly able to function. Once the shock of leaving Mickey had  
worn off, the gravity of his decision sunk in. He had chosen to be a cog in the system, rather than  
an actual human being. 'This isn't me anymore,' he'd said. What did that even mean? That he  
wasn't capable of love, life, hope, happiness?

Now, Mickey was back, and it would be clear to everyone that Ian was a fraud. He had believed  
Fiona, who only saw in him what she wanted to see. Acknowledging his mistakes and vices  
would've forced her to be cognizant of her own. He wasn't doing well. He was sad and empty,  
falling into the arms of man after man, trying to find something meaningful, just like she did. The  
difference being that he had someone that mattered, that filled him up. He had forsaken it so he  
could have stability. What was the point of being a productive drone, spreading his seed in barren  
spaces that would never bloom?

He sat up on his bed, lightheaded from laying on his back for so long, and dropped the roach of  
his joint into the ashtray on his nightstand. It was evening and he had spent the whole day  
smoking weed and thinking, trying to figure out how everything got so fucked up. He had been  
searching for someone else to blame, but when it came down to it, he could only find himself. He  
pulled on his boots and threw a grey sweater over his t-shirt. He made his way to the bathroom to  
brush his teeth and laughed at his reflection in the mirror. He was a mess. His 5 o'clock shadow  
was rounding 8 o'clock and he had a horrific case of bedhead. He looked exactly how he felt. He  
wondered if he'd been this disheveled earlier that day. Maybe that's why Mickey wouldn't let him  
touch him. He wet his hand and tried to smooth down his cow licks a bit, but didn't put too much  
effort in them. His hair wasn't going to turn off the horny queens who presented their asses to him  
on a silver platter.

"Going to go troll the club for a fuck?" Lip asked leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.  
It had become Ian's Saturday night ritual. He'd long since given up trying to have a real  
relationship. It felt disingenuous to be with a man when he was painfully in love with somebody  
else.

"Yup," Ian replied simply, spitting out some toothpaste into the basin.

"You wanna talk more about the fact that Mickey's home?" Lip prompted studying his brother's  
appearance and shaking his head disapprovingly.

"Nope," Ian responded. He had come home earlier that day crying about his reunion with Mickey.  
He shared the little bit of information he knew with Lip, who had tried to chill him out, rub his  
back, and make it better, but Ian was too far gone, so Lip rolled him up a joint and put him in bed.  
Lip knew about Mexico. Ian had broken down and told him a month after his return when he  
found it impossible to function normally, to pretend any longer. His brother was sensitive, more  
understanding than Fiona who had scolded him like he was a child. Maybe she though he still  
was.

"Why didn't you go with him? All the way?" Lip had asked when Ian came clean, "What stopped  
you?"

Ian had shrugged his shoulders, "Guess because I was doing well here."

"But were you?" His brother had questioned, "I can't stand Mickey."

"I know."

"But he loves you. Never saw love like that. Doesn't happen for people like us often," He had said  
simply, "Should've come to me instead of Fi. I'm the genius of the family, remember?"

"You were too drunk," Ian said simply.

And that was the last time they discussed it until earlier that day, when Mickey came crashing  
back into his life, or he crashed back into Mickey's.

"Mind if I smoke your roach?" Lip asked tapping his fingers against his thigh.

"I'm saving it," Ian replied before rinsing out his mouth under the faucet.

"Mind if I smoke your roach?" Lip repeated, not satisfied with the previous answer.

"Fuck," Ian sighed pushing past him, "Take it. I don't care. I lose everything anyway."

"Now you're just being dramatic," Lip tsked, "I give it two weeks, Ian. Two weeks until you  
guys are back together," he called after him.

He rolled his eyes at the loud "Fuck off," that was yelled back at him. He knew he was right. He  
was always right.

By the time Ian got to the White Swallow, the club was packed. He felt his phone vibrating in his  
pocket and pulled it out to see it was Mandy calling... again. She had been calling and texting him  
non-stop since that afternoon. He shoved it back into his pocket, not interested in speaking to her.  
He wanted to zone out, forget about today, forget about everything. He made his way over to the  
bar to get a club soda, quite aware that he was high enough and didn't need to add alcohol to the  
mix.

He leaned against the bar for a few minutes, scanning the room, looking for someone who would  
do. It was the same story week after week. He'd be approached by a slew of guys and reject most  
of them, finding them too tall, too dark, too muscular, too blonde, too thin. He needed their ass to  
be pale and their hair to be black or he wouldn't be able to cum. He had learned that a while ago.  
His eyes honed in on a guy who was a little older than him. He had milky white skin and short  
dark hair. He noticed Ian staring and shot him a sultry smile. His lips were thinner than he liked,  
but he didn't plan to kiss him. He never did. He let the guy come to him like they always did.

"Hey there," The guy said attempting to be smooth. He didn't need to try so hard. He fit the bill.

"Hey," Ian greeted nonchalantly.

"I'm Grant and you are..." He prompted.

"Horny, you wanna do this or not?" He didn't have time for small talk. His bed was calling his  
name. He just wanted to go to sleep, wake up, and have everything not be fucked.

The guys eyes went wide with surprise, "Uh, yeah. I mean, I thought we'd dance a little, have a  
drink, but..."

"There's a lot of guys that'll do that with you. You can go look for them or you can come to the  
alley with me," Ian said shortly, glancing around the room to see if he could spot somebody else.

"No, I'm...," He paused and licked his lips, "Let's go."

Ian led the way out the side door and walked own the alley a bit so they could duck behind a large  
dumpster. He started to unbutton his jeans, trying not to shiver from the bitter cold of the night air.

He'd warm up once he started to fuck.

The guy pushed him against the wall and ghosted his lips over Ian's, prompting the redhead to  
grab him by the arms and flip their positions, slamming the guys back hard against the wall, "I  
don't kiss," He stated coolly, "bend over."

"I'm usually the giver," The guy protested. His eyes were really blue, but not as beautiful as the  
pale blue eyes he got lost in.

"Alright," Ian said with a shrug, turning to walk away.

The guy grabbed his elbow to stop him, "I'll take it for you. You're so fucking hot."

Ian didn't reply, instead he pushed the guy against the wall again, this time so he was facing the  
brick. He quickly unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to his knee. Ian grabbed a packet of  
lube out of his pocket and slicked up two of his finger. It took forever to prep the guy and Ian was  
freezing. He hated that the noises he made sounded like he was in pain. Ian had to ask him if he  
was alright several times.

His ass was pale, but it wasn't full or plump. There was nothing to grab onto or admire. He was  
way more bony than he looked in his clothes. He slid on the condom and pushed into the guy  
slowly. The brunet squirmed underneath of him, telling him to go even slower. Ian closed his  
eyes, picturing the most perfect ass he'd ever seen. He imagined pushing into Mickey, how well  
he took it, how he begged for more. When Ian was pounding into him, he pushed back. He never  
tried to move away. His bossy, badass bottom. He'd never find anyone as good for him in every  
fucking way. Ian grasped onto jutting hips as he slammed into the too tight hole. The guy sounded  
like a dying cat and it was disgusting. Ian squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to focus on his  
dick in an ass, but he couldn't. He needed the guy to shut the fuck up so he could lost in his  
fantasies of the only man who could get him off anymore, even if it was just by using a rolodex of  
moments in his memory.

"This isn't gonna happen," Ian huffed in annoyance, pulling out and peeling off the condom. His  
dick had gone soft and didn't give a shit that he couldn't get it hard. He tossed the condom into the  
dumpster and began to button up his jeans.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" The guy spat, looking over his shoulder at Ian, his ass  
still exposed.

"I'm sorry, man," Ian said with a shrug and he meant it. If he gave a shit, he would've been  
embarrassed. He didn't want the guy to think it was him, it wasn't, not really. It was just that he  
wasn't Mickey. He was even more fucked up than usual. At least before seeing Mickey that day,  
he'd been able to finish.

"Fucking asshole," The guy murmured pulling his pants up as Ian exited the alley and headed  
towards the El.

Once he got in the train he took his gloves out and grabbed his phone. He had 15 unread texts  
from Mandy. The last one reading:

-Get back to me 2night, motherfucker, or I'm gonna sneak into your house and cut off your dick.

Just need to know if you're ok. If he wasn't in a shitty mood he would have laughed. Instead he texted back:

-I'm fine. What's Mickey's #?-

-The same. Gave him his phone back. Don't text him. Give it time. I'm serious.-

Ian didn't reply, instead he scrolled to Mickey's name. He stared at the phone screen for the rest of  
his ride home, knowing he shouldn't. His resolve held until he climbed into his lonely bed a few  
minutes later. He typed and erased the same message several times before hitting send.

-I miss you-

20 minutes past before his phone vibrated and his heart leapt to his throat when he saw Mickey  
had replied.

-Of course you do now that it's easy-

He stared at the screen, unsure of how to respond. So he wrote the only thing that felt right.

-I love you-  
The response was immediate:  
-Then you would've gotten in the fucking car-  
He swallowed his pride, but let the tears escape his eyes as he pressed on:  
-I love you-  
-Fuck You, Gallagher- complete with the middle finger emoji.  
-I love you-  
No response.

Chapter Four: Heavy With Mood

Waking up on Sunday morning, Ian felt worse than he had the night before, which he didn't think  
would've been possible, but here he was. His head was banging, mouth was dry, and he was sad,  
so fucking sad. It wasn't as if the emotion had settled on the surface of his psyche, that would have  
been more manageable. Instead it wielded daggers, slashing and slicing down to his soul. He  
rolled over to pick up his phone from the nightstand. He had several texts from Mandy, but none  
from Mickey. Ian's last 'I love you' was still hanging in the air, unanswered. He stared at the  
screen for a few more minutes, thinking that maybe if he willed a response to come through it  
actually would. When he realized he was being a dumb shit, he dropped the phone on the bed and  
stood up slowly, stretching his arms over his head. He heard his back crack and sighed. Careful  
not to wake Lip or Carl he made his way over to the hamper and sifted through his dirty laundry  
for his warmest hoodie. He looked in the mirror and decided the maroon material made his skin  
look paler and the bags under his eyes darker. He should shower and shave. He knew he'd feel a  
little better if he did, but he didn't have time. He had to work in a few hours and he wanted as  
much time as he could get.

He pulled on his jeans and headed down to the kitchen. There was a 6-pack of Frank's Old Style  
in the refrigerator. That would do. After putting on his coat and boots, he grabbed the beer and  
made his way out into the blustery morning. It was grey and so intensely overcast that it felt like  
there was no color left on the South Side. Any vibrant hues had been washed out and dulled. The  
walk to the Milkovich house wasn't a long one, but with every step he took he wondered if  
showing up at Mickey's doorstep was a really big mistake. His ex-boyfriend wasn't exactly a  
morning person, and moreover, he seemingly wasn't a big fan of Ian's with admittedly good  
reason.

By the time he knocked on the door, he'd decided that he shouldn't have fucking come. He was  
about to turn and run home when the door swung open. He stood there shell-shocked, which he  
knew was pretty stupid considering there was a fairly good chance that Mickey would open the  
door.

"Really?" Mickey asked quizzically, completely unimpressed by the fact that Ian was standing on  
his porch. He let his eyes pass over the mess of a man in front of him, "You look like shit." Ian's  
hood was framing his drawn face, he had more facial hair than typical, and his eyes were  
bloodshot and tired.

"Feel worse," Ian assured him, lifting up the beer. He handed it over to Mickey who grudgingly  
took it from him.

"It's 9 in the morning, the fuck am I gonna do with this?" He scoffed walking into the house and  
leaving the door open, which Ian took as an invitation to follow him.

"Hate me less?" Ian suggested, watching Mickey drop the beer onto the counter. He saw Yev and  
Svetlana sitting on the couch watching Sesame Street, "Hey Svet. Hi Yevvy," Ian said tentatively,  
giving the little boy a nervous wave.

"Ian!" Yev exclaimed with a wide grin. Yesterday was evidently forgotten. Ian was thankful that  
3 year olds were so fickle, "Wanna play with me?"

"I'd love to buddy, but I gotta talk to your daddy," Ian replied, ruffling the boy's hair before taking  
off his jacket and laying it on the couch.

"Thought you were here to see the kid," Mickey said, clicking his tongue, "Ain't interested in  
talking." With that he made his way into his bedroom with Ian following on heels. Mickey leaned  
against the wall the furthest away from the bed and crossed his arms over his chest uncomfortably.  
Ian sat on the end of the bed. He would've been nostalgic about being in the room if he hadn't  
spent time in there every so often. He could still smell Mickey on the sheets. There was no scent  
that reminded him more of home or comforted him in the way Mickey's did, "You can sit with me.  
I'm not gonna bite, unless you want me to," Ian joked lamely, lifting his eyebrows trying to get a  
smile out of Mickey. Instead of the reaction he was looking for, he got an icy glare.

"You don't look good," Mickey stated.

"You already said that," Ian reminded him, self-consciously smoothing out his hair. He should  
have showered.

"You alright?" Mickey questioned, feigning disinterest by crinkling up his nose and looking away  
from Ian as if he didn't care, even though he had just asked.

"I'm not manic, probably depressed, but I get my ass out of bed and go to work, so I guess I'm  
ok," Ian responded with a shrug.

Mickey nodded, his eyes focusing on a stain on the carpet rather than Ian.

"So, got some questions..." Ian began.

"You try google?"

Ian rolled his eyes and Mickey's lips turned up a bit, "About you. I just don't... get it. The DEA, I  
understand that. But, why didn't you tell me?"

"Couldn't," Mickey replied simply.

"I wouldn't have... you know I wouldn't have said anything," Ian stuttered.

"Still couldn't. Wasn't gonna fuck anything up," Mickey pursed his lips.

"What was all that shit with the phone, the van, the bleachers? I had a police officer come by to  
ask me if I was in touch with you," Ian shook his head overwhelmed with how involved the  
whole operation had been, "How much was real?"

"I wasn't supposed to contact you. Wasn't part of my deal. They must've been checkin' up on me.

The guys were Svet's friends. Owed her a favor and she cashed it on your ass."

"Can she get a refund?" Ian joked.

Mickey looked at him completely unamused, "You done?"

Ian cleared his throat. It had been years since he was intimidated by Mickey, but in that moment,  
under that stone-cold stare, he was nervous, "You didn't seem to have a plan."

"Oh I had a complicated plan that was given to me by some DEA assholes," Mickey retorted.

"Tell me about it," Ian prompted. He licked his lips as his eyes dropped to check out the way  
Mickey's muscular biceps rippled under his lightweight, long sleeved shirt. Man, Mickey was  
built.

"What d'you wanna know?" Mickey bit off a hangnail and spit it onto the floor.

"Have you been working out?" Ian asked dumbly.

"Stupid fucking question. You only got 19 left," Mickey said dryly.

"Damon shooting up the gas station?"

"He's a fucking idiot," Mickey huffed.

"Wasn't in the plan?"

"Wasn't in the plan," Mickey confirmed.

"Hot-wiring that car?"

"They planted it there for me. I had the keys."

"You did not," Ian gasped, his eyes wide as Mickey smirked, "Why'd you let me do it then?"

"That shit got me rock hard," Mickey admitted, realizing he had said too much and shutting mouth  
quickly.

Ian grinned a little, "and Damon?"

"He never did it for me," Mickey said plainly.

"You know what I mean."

"Was supposed to ditch him there. The Feds picked him up and threw him back in the can."

"It just doesn't seem like you," Ian said softly, "Setting him up like that."

"Fuck you," Mickey shot. It was definitely a sore spot for him. He wasn't a snitch, but life and  
circumstances taught him that the South Side rules had to be broken sometimes. He sighed when  
he saw on Ian's face that he wasn't judging, "Was willing to do anything to...," he shook his head,  
shifting his direction, "prison's pretty fucking lonely, man."

Ian nodded as if he understood, but he couldn't fathom it, "and going to that girl's birthday party?"

"Jesus ran operations for the American side of the ring. If we could've gotten him for aiding and  
abetting, we would've blown out a whole tier," He shook his head in annoyance, reflecting on the  
lost opportunity.

"Wow," Ian breathed. It's not that he didn't think Mickey was capable of having a job like this,  
after-all he was tough and smart, but he just never imagined this is where he'd be, "You were  
gonna let me rob a freaking bank, Mick."

Mickey chuckled. It had been too long since Ian last heard that laugh. Fuck, he missed it. He  
watched as Mickey's eyes lit up for a moment, before he reigned his emotions back in, "I was  
fucking with you. You weren't gonna rob a bank."

"But the mask," Ian protested.

"That shit was funny."

"You thought I was going to demand that the teller hand over cash," Ian said in disbelief.

"How stupid do you think I am, Ian?" Mickey asked, clearly becoming agitated, "You filled out a  
goddamn withdrawal slip. You think I'd never seen one of those. You weren't gonna rob a  
fucking bank. Your balls ain't that big."

"I took out the money."

"So?"

"Why?"

"Figured when I finished with the DEA shit we would've stayed down there. Started a life or  
some shit," Mickey's voice fell off at the end of the statement, clearly wishing he hadn't gone  
there.

Ian bit his lip. He didn't know what to say. An array or thoughts were swirling around his mind,  
but none seemed appropriate to bring up at that moment, so he decided to ask one more question,  
"and why the dress?"

"They told me to wear it so I wore it," Mickey stated simply, "Guess they had their reasons."

"Mickey Milkovich falling in line," Ian teased, raising his eyebrows.

"Suck my dick," Mickey jeered, throwing up his middle finger at Ian.

"I'd fucking love to," The redhead said honesty.

"Yeah, that shit's never happening," Mickey informed him crossing the room and opening his  
underwear drawer. He tossed a few fat stacks of cash to Ian, "It's all there."

Ian sat speechless surrounded in his life savings. He didn't know what to say so he lamely  
muttered, "I'm not walking through the South Side with $32,000 in my hands."

"Pussy," Mickey chided.

"I don't even have my fucking backpack!" Ian cried, "Hold onto it until I do."

"Fuck," Mickey groaned, completed annoyed. He walked over to collect the money and shoved it  
back into his drawer unceremoniously.

"Listen, Mick," Ian began hesitantly, "I got scared."

Mickey shook his head vehemently, "We're not doin' this. You told me you had questions and I  
answered your fucking questions. Ain't interested in your excuses, man."

"Mickey," Ian stood up, his tone becoming more demanding, less scared, "I want to tell you..."

"I'm sick of giving a shit about what you fucking want," Mickey blurted, losing all the patience he  
had mustered, "Selfish fucking bastard."

"Don't," Ian pleaded grasping onto Mickey's elbow frantically, "Please, don't." They stared into  
each other's eyes, both left panting from the sudden intensity of the moment.  
Mickey shook Ian's hands off of him with an irritated movement.

"Please," Ian began softly, "Please let me explain."

The tension was broken by Mickey's door opening and Zev entering the room with a flourish,

"Ready to go, baby? The gym awaits!" He glanced from Mickey to Ian and then back again.  
Aware that he'd interrupted something that he didn't think should be happening in the first place

Zev extended his hand to Ian, "We didn't meet formally. I'm Zev, Mickey's partner."

Ian swallowed hard, feeling like a 500 pound weight had been dropped on his chest, "Ian." He  
shook the man's hand. He was taller than him, darker than him, and with the state redhead's  
current appearance, he feared he may be more handsome than him, as well. Ian felt like he was  
going to vomit when Mickey didn't flinch as Zev kissed his brunet head and tapped his ass  
playfully.

"You are my Mickey's ex-boyfriend," Zev said. Ian wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement,  
but he was too fucking shook up by this motherfucker calling Mickey, 'My Mickey' to think  
straight. He could feel his body begin to shake, "You were in the middle of something, I'll come  
back," Zev offered.

"No. We're done," Mickey stated coolly, gesturing for Zev to follow him as he left a stunned Ian  
standing in the middle of his bedroom, an alien in a familiar space.

Chapter Five: Fantasy & Reality Lie Too Far Apart

-I miss you-

Mickey sighed and placed his phone back on his nightstand. He stretched his arms over his head  
and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Today was a big day. As much as he didn’t want  
to admit it, he was nervous. His time in Mexico and the Academy had prepared him, he was sure  
of that, but he couldn’t deny that there was a fear deep inside of him that the DEA would realize  
betting on him had been a mistake. South Side thug turned DEA agent was movie shit, not real  
life, but this was his real life and he finally wanted it to be good. He wasn’t content to relent to  
being fucked for life anymore. He was going to chase something better, evidently while being  
chased himself. He picked up his vibrating phone and saw another text message from Ian.  
-so much-

Fucking, Gallgher. He didn’t have time for his bullshit this morning. He had to focus. He turned  
off his phone and climbed out of bed to get ready. He was tucking in his black collared shirt when  
he heard Zev’s voice outside his bedroom door:

“Ready to roll, baby?”

“One minute,” Mickey replied, zipping up his jeans. He put his boots on and opened the door.  
Zev was leaning against the wall holding coffee and a pastry bag.

“Breakfast of champions,” Zev said handing over the goods.

“Thanks,” Mickey replied taking a sip and then a huge bite out of the cherry danish. He walked  
into the living room where Svetlana and Yev were on the floor playing with Legos, “I’m heading  
out.”

“Gonna get bad guys?” Yev asked him, his blue eyes wide and dancing with excitement, “Like  
Spupperman?”

“Keep the snake in the cage, honey,” Svetlana reminded her son. He clenched his teeth together  
and hissed an ‘S.’

“Gonna try,” Mickey said tousling the kid’s hair and grinning down at him, “Fuck you’re cute.  
How’d you get so cute with two funny looking parents?” Yev shrugged innocently.

“Speak for yourself,” Svetlana said narrowing his eyes at Mickey who smirked back at her, “Have  
a good day. You bring home dinner for Yevvy. I will be at work by the time you get home. You  
see if Mandy wants anything, too.”

“You the boss now?” Mickey questioned, crinkling up his nose, “Telling me what to do?”

“Um, yes,” Svetlana replied plainly, “Take the trash on your way out.”

Mickey licked his lips and thought about protesting but decided against it. Svetlana had held down  
the fort while he was away, provided for Yev. Taking out the trash was the least he could fucking  
do. He felt a certain sense of accomplishment that his new job would give him the opportunity to  
provide for his son in a very real way. Maybe Yev could go to camp in the summer and have  
birthday parties at Chuck E. Cheese’s or some shit; do all the things he’d wanted to do as a kid,  
but never got to.

He shoved the rest of his breakfast into his mouth and handed his coffee over to Zev, before tying  
up the trash bag, carrying it outside, and tossing it into the can. He dragged the receptacle to the  
curb and grimaced. Trash day made the neighborhood smell like fish, piss and shit. He missed the  
scent of the salty sea air and the floral breeze. Mexico had fucking ruined him. He wondered if  
he’d ever get used to Chicago again, if being there would ever not feel like settling. In Mexico,  
he’d spent so much time yearning for Ian, in Illinois he pined for the ocean.

“Today’s going to be boring,” Zev informed him, turning on his car and letting it warm up for a  
bit before pulling out of the parking space.

Mickey was pretty sure Zev’s ‘boring’ was understatement as most of his day was spent becoming  
oriented to the offices, meeting co-workers, and going over protocol after protocol. It was  
basically a review of all the shit he had already learned in the Academy.

“Unsurprisingly, you had perfect scores on your Drug Recognition, Defensive Tactics, and  
Marksmanship exams, “ Special Agent Greer said closing Mickey’s file and grinning at him  
knowingly, “However, your Ethics exam score was markedly lower.”

Mickey clicked his tongue and replied sarcastically, “You don’t say? Remember where I come  
from, don’t ya, Greer?”

“Special Agent Greer,” His boss reminded him, “And it seems we’ll need to have a few more  
days of review.”

“Fuck,” Mickey muttered softly, before nodding his head in agreement. He was going to have to  
get used to this, fast.

*

“So he called him ‘My Mickey’ like the ‘my’ was definitely there,” Sue asked as she drove the  
ambulance down Homan, heading back to the bay.

“The ‘my’ was definitely there,” Ian confirmed, biting his lip attempting to focus on that sensation  
rather than the feeling of his stomach dropping while reliving the events of the day before.

“Fuck. I don’t know, man. It sounds like it’s a done deal. Between ‘My Mickey’ and ‘my partner’  
there’s not so much space for interpretation, you know?” Sue said with a sigh, “I’m sorry, Ian. I  
can tell this guy means a lot to you.”

She had no idea. There was no way she could truly understand how much Mickey meant to him.  
Shit, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t even grasp the magnitude of his love for  
Mickey until he was gone. There was definitely truth to the old adage, he didn’t know what he  
had. Mickey had learned the tough lesson long before he did. All those years ago, when he  
returned from his failed stint in the Army, Mickey was different, he could feel it in the way he  
touched him, the way he kissed him. There was an aching desperation to hold onto him, not let  
him run away again. Mickey had settled into his need, became open with his want. Now, he was  
staring at his past in a mirror, everything was the same, but the image was flipped. When Mickey  
was in prison, he was at his fingertips. If he reached for him, he was near. It was selfish, but  
Mickey was stuck, stagnant, paused, which allowed him to move, stretch, and live knowing  
Mickey was there, waiting. Thinking like that had led him into two unfulfilling relationships and  
caused him to become detached from who he had so proudly been in his past. Consistently putting  
himself first had poured the poison, but putting Mickey last had forced him to drink it. He did this  
to himself.

“Want me to heat you up a Hot Pocket?” Sue offered as she parked the ambulance.

“Nah, thanks though,” Ian said climbing out of his seat and heading for his locker. He needed to  
get his phone and cigarettes.

“You can't just have a cigarette for lunch, Ian. You’re already too skinny,” Sue called after him.  
He waved his hand to indicate he heard her, but he couldn't eat. He was too busy swallowing his  
hurt to focus on food.

Sighing, he walked outside, lit up a cigarette and leaned against the building. He needed to talk to  
the only person that would profoundly understand.

"Hey," He said softly into the phone.

"You ok? Sound low..." Mandy asked, her voice rife with worry.

"I love him," He croaked, his voice wavering with emotion. He muttered an almost inaudible  
'fuck' as he tilted his head back and stared up at the gradient grey sky, trying not to let the tears  
leak out. He knew if he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"I know," Mandy said quietly.

"He fucking hates me," Ian said raising his shaky hand so he could take a drag from his cigarette.

He felt like he was on another plane, not even existing in his everyday life anymore. Everything  
was Mickey. He flooded every thought, his mind awash with memories of their relationship and  
how it had undulated like the waves, swelling and breaking only to recede then build again.

"He doesn't hate you.. couldn't hate you. He's hurt, Ian," Mandy stated, "You can't blame him. It's  
just gonna take time."

"I don't have time," Ian blurted, hearing the panic so clear in his own voice, "It's too late. He's  
with Zev." He felt a warm tear slide down his cool cheek, followed by another and then the flood.

He tried to keep up, wiping them angrily away with the arm of his uniform jacket. The thought of  
Mickey being with another man, loving another man, made him feel despair he didn't think was  
possible. Cracks and slivers on his heart were becoming chasms and lacerations, the process  
causing more physical pain than he thought emotions could command.

"Wait, what?" Mandy asked confused, "You think he's... no! No, they're friends, partners at the  
DEA. They're super close, but not like THAT."

Ian shook his head, "The guy's all over him, Mands. Calls him 'baby' 'my Mickey' and Mick isn't  
even fucking phased by it. They're together."

"He's straight, Ian. I promise they're not. Zev's just that way, I guess. I dunno. He's weird, but so's  
Mickey..."

Ian sniffed, still tentative to believe it, but feeling immense relief at the possibility that they weren't  
actually a couple. It didn't change the fact that Mickey was completely closed off to him, "I don't  
blame him for hating me."

"He doesn't hate you," Mandy reminded him, her tone still supportive, "Remember a few days  
after Monica's funeral, when everything really hit you. You were crying on the phone with me,  
like really crying and all you kept saying was that you'd never see Mickey again, never be with  
him again. I've never heard you sound more terrified, it was like it all became real."

"It did," Ian confirmed, recounting his emotions at the time. The fear was overwhelming, because  
it was at that moment he realized that there would be ramifications for his actions long after he left  
the border. He'd never be the same, not really. There was no coming back from that, no existing in  
that level of regret.

"Well that's not real anymore. Mickey's here right in front of you. Yeah, he's cold, not gonna deny  
that. You gotta earn his trust back. But, he's here so you can start to try," Mandy reasoned.

"How do I make him trust me again? Make him love me again?" Ian asked, a renewed sense of  
hope blooming in his chest. Mickey was back. This was his chance to prove that he could be  
worthy of his love and that he could reciprocate it in a selfless way that he'd never been capable of  
before.

"I'm not an expert in making Mickey love me, we were just kinda born into it I guess. But, do you  
know who is an expert at making Mickey love them?" She questioned.

"Who?" Ian asked dropping his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it until the embers faded  
into black asphalt.

"You."

The statement robbed him of his breath, and stole his fear, "I'm gonna do it."

"Do what?" Mandy asked, pretty certain she already knew the answer to his question.

"Anything I can to get Mickey back," Ian said as a statement to Mandy and then an affirmation to  
himself, "I'm gonna get him back."

Chapter Six: Slow Like Honey

-I'm sorry-

Ian had sent Mickey text messages every morning and each night before he fell asleep for the past  
week. He'd tried to change it up from the usual 'I love you,' 'I miss you,' and 'I'm sorry' by sending  
song lyrics and pictures of the places that meant something to them. Mickey had only responded to  
him twice. The first time was on Tuesday night, when Ian sent him lyrics from a song he'd been  
listening to on repeat:

-And so I'd thought I'd let you know that these things take forever, I especially am slow, but I  
realized that I need you and I wondered if I could come home-  
To which Mickey replied 'Stop sending me gay shit.' Ian smiled so wide that it actually hurt his  
cheeks.

He tried to remember the last time he'd smiled that big. He realized it had to have been over a year  
ago, while he was looking over at Mickey, who was in the driver's seat of the beat-up green car,  
the desert landscape blurred through the window beside him as they drove in Texas, "What're you  
looking at?" He'd asked Ian, his tone indicating that he knew exactly what Ian'd been looking at  
and he liked it. He was so beautiful, so free, so in love.

"You," Ian had replied with a grin, "You know I love you, right?" He'd been having doubts about  
his capacity to leave Chicago behind for good, unsure if he could actually cross the border and  
live his life on the run. He didn't question his love for Mickey, though, that was the only thing he  
was confident in.

Svetlana had always said that he was the wind, but it wasn't until after his diagnosis that he  
understood. He became so inconsistent and temperamental. Sometimes he was a gentle breeze, so  
soft and weak that he was barely noticed. There'd be no force behind him, easily bent and  
redirected by the people in his path. He'd settle gradually until he didn't exist. Other times he was  
violent gusts, impossible to ignore due to the destruction he left in his wake. He'd snap and  
splinter, tear and plow anything that attempted to stand up to his pressure. But it was the times he  
turned on himself that he was most dangerous. He'd be angry and tornadic, twisting and turning  
himself into a funnel of emotion, responsible for vast ruination and then suddenly disappear.

"Mmm," Mickey had hummed and nodded, not fully convinced.

"Always loved you," Ian assured him, looking at Mickey, who was staring forward at the road  
ahead. He followed Mickey's gaze and smiled when he felt the brunet's fingers intertwine with his.  
At that moment, he had thought he could do it, leave everything behind, as long as he was with  
Mickey. He chided himself for not following his instincts, for psyching himself out, for ruining his  
life under the guise of saving it.

The second time Mickey had responded was on Thursday morning, when Ian had jumped out of  
the ambulance to take a picture of the high school bleachers before he and Sue passed the old  
haunt. He sent the photo to Mickey with the message:

-Our spot-  
He was shocked when he got a reply 10 minutes later:  
-It was-

Ian felt anger take over his body. His fists clenched and his jaw grew tight. He knew he'd fucked  
up, he wasn't going to deny that, but how could Mickey so cavalierly disregard their history. It  
took him a few minutes to calm down, allowing his outrage to ebb into the hurt that it was  
covering. He couldn't blame Mickey for his resentment, as much as he wanted things between  
them healed expeditiously he remembered Mandy's advice and knew that if it happened, it was  
going to take time.

Still, the bleachers were such a special place for Ian, regardless of what had gone on between  
them, he would never be able to deny that. He hoped Mickey was just posturing and that he  
wasn't shutting down the memories or the potential to make more.

Ian stared at the picture as Sue drove, thinking back to afternoons spent fucking Mickey after  
ROTC practice. Mickey'd had a beard back then and he thought he looked insanely sexy. He  
would be focused on his drills until he'd be interrupted by a loud wolf whistle. Looking over to the  
track, he'd see Mickey smoking a cigarette and nodding his head towards the bleachers. His  
friends didn't think much of it at the time, probably thought he owed Mickey drug money or  
something. He'd be unable to concentrate for the rest of practice, hungering for Mickey, desperate  
to get inside him.

Mickey would show up partially prepped, ready for Ian to open him the rest of the way as quickly  
as possible. Pushing into Mickey was always euphoric. None of the men he'd been with before  
came close to giving him that sensation and even back then he knew that nobody in the future  
would ever compare. Their bodies were made for each other.

Back then, Mickey wouldn't allow Ian to kiss him. He wanted Ian to believe that their relationship  
was purely sexual and kissing was too soft. Ian took every opportunity to push his boundaries  
further little by little. He'd rest his lips on the back of Mickey's neck while he slammed his cock  
into his ass, stolen moments of tenderness. He'd always felt a need to be closer, inhale him, really  
feel him. He loved him then, before he knew that he meant anything to Mickey. It was probably  
the only time that he loved him unselfishly. He had been willing to do whatever it took to be with  
him, taking the shards and pieces of hope and building a foundation. Even when Mickey had  
pushed him away, he'd come back, desperate for even the smallest bit of him. It was under those  
bleachers that he'd started to realize that his feelings weren't so unrequited.

He regretted sullying the spot by screwing Ralph's annoying ass there, but in a way he didn't.  
Mickey beating the shit out of the dickwad was the first glimpse of jealousy he'd seen from him.  
He'd felt kinda bad for the kid, but watching Mickey claim him in some sense had both turned him  
on and made his heart soar. Maybe, just maybe they could be something. He'd pounded the hell  
out of Mickey and made him scream his name. It had been the first time he'd done that, and  
hearing it roll off his tongue had Ian rapturous, but when Mickey told him after they'd finished that  
he had missed him, he was a goner.

"Earth to Ian," Sue said snapping her fingers to snap him out of his nostalgia, "You alright?"

"I'm alright," Ian lied, feeling, competely raw from the emotions that had bubbled up to the  
surface, pushing at his skin and making him feel anxious.

The day passed slowly with Ian distracted by his own thoughts for most of it. His walk down  
memory lane reminded him that he had fought for Mickey before, and got him. Sure, the  
circumstances were different back then, but they hadn't felt any less overwhelming at the time.  
Mickey had been so deeply closeted that loving him and hoping that he would love him back was  
painful. But somehow, against all of the odds he had made Mickey love him, he had demanded it  
stomping and screaming but he had done it. He could do it again.

When he got home later that day, he laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind  
spinning. He had tried to connect with Mickey by being sweet, loving, and needy but he hadn't  
tried to appeal to him in the most obvious way, the way that had always been so fucking easy for  
them. When words didn't work, their sexual attraction did. They had built off of it before, maybe  
they could do it again.

Just thinking of fucking Mickey got him instantly hard. He unzipped his uniform pants and slid  
them, and his boxer briefs, down to his mid-thigh. He licked his palm and slid his cupped hand  
down the length of his shaft wanting to get himself as hard as a rock. He bit his lip and began to  
stroke himself at an even rhythm, working until he started to drip precum down the length of his  
dick. When he felt satisfied with his readiness he reached for his phone, panting eagerly with the  
need to finish. He snapped a picture and looked it over closely. His cock was standing proudly in  
all its glory, taking up the majority of the screen. You could see the precum glistening over the  
smooth, stretched skin. The only thing that would make the picture hotter was Mickey's mouth  
around him. He shivered at the thought. Too worked up to reconsider he messaged the picture to  
Mickey and texted below it:

-Miss it?-

He dropped his phone to his side as he continued to pump his dick until he came all over his hand.  
He reached for tissues to wipe himself up and glanced down at his phone not expecting to see a  
response. He was surprised when he saw a text bubble coming and going as if Mickey was typing  
and deleting over and over again.

-I see you- Ian texted with a smirk on his face.

The text bubble popped up again and quickly turned into the emoji of a middle finger, causing Ian  
to smile broadly, feeling content... for now.

Chapter Seven: Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

-It’s not a silly little moment. It’s not the storm before the calm. This is the deep and dying breath  
of this love that we’ve been working on. Can’t seem to hold you like I want to, so I can feel you  
in my arms-

Mickey stared at the screen, reading and rereading the text Ian had sent to him. He’d never admit  
it, but every time the idiot sent him a message with some heart wrenching song lyrics, it gave him  
a certain semblance of satisfaction. He wanted Ian to hurt, even slightly as much as he had, but it  
wasn’t just that.

Love had been a foreign concept to him, an emotion that he wasn’t sure he’d actually felt deeply  
until Ian. He had cared about his family in the way that he imagined people in a gang felt about  
their fellow members. He was always loyal to them and didn’t want to see them get hurt, but he  
was never able to tap into that soft, tender feeling. Through the years, after opening himself up  
with Ian and realizing that loving somebody didn’t make you a bitch, he’d been able to identify  
that he loved Mandy and with time, grew to love Yevgeny.

Just as Ian had taught him to feel love, he’d also schooled him in the darker side of relinquishing  
himself to the emotion. He spent his whole goddamn life being hurt. He wasn’t one to complain  
about that shit, but he wasn’t unaware of it either. He’d been raped and both physically and  
emotionally abused but none of that had ever really gotten to him too much, not as badly as it  
probably should have. He was survivor, so he just blanked it out and pushed forward. When it  
came down to it, Terry’s words and fists could never inflict the type of pain that Ian had been able  
to cause him. He’d fucking tell that bastard that someday if he ever saw him again; take away any  
pride he had in fucking up Mickey’s life. He’d look him straight in the eye and tell him that the  
only thing that had been able to break his faggot son was his love for another man. Fuck him.  
And fuck Ian. He knew that loving someone like he loved Ian was deep, consuming and more  
fucking painful than it was beautiful. It was tough as hell to sacrifice when he wanted to run, to  
hang in there when everything was scaring the shit out of him, but he had done it. Ian had never  
been able to. Though it had been Mickey who’d been closed off in the beginning of their  
relationship, it was Ian who kept his emotions closer to the vest. He’d pour his heart out to the  
asshole, and Ian would just sit there nodding and looking stupid. He’d always wished Ian would  
step it up in one area: actions or words, give him something to fucking work with. The song lyrics,  
as fucking corny as he found them, gave Ian’s thoughts a voice that he was never able to give  
them himself. So he read them, and reread, and fuck, if they didn’t mean something to him.  
When he finally felt content that he’d stared at the screen for long enough, he climbed out of bed,  
pleasantly surprised to catch a whiff of bacon cooking on the stove-top. Hearing his stomach  
growl in anticipation, he threw on a hoodie and headed out to the kitchen. He wasn’t expecting  
the sight he saw. He looked really fucking good, annoyingly hot tending to the meat. He’d gotten  
a haircut and shaved off the scruffy beard he had been letting grow out. Mickey could see his  
muscles moving under his tight, green, long sleeve shirt and his jeans were hugging his ass like  
they had a fucking cock of their own, “Morning Mick,” Ian greeted him way too chipper for a guy  
who was cooking breakfast in his ex-boyfriend’s kitchen at 9am.

“The fuck?” Mickey muttered looking over at Svetlana who was sitting at the table with Yevgeny.

His son was tapping away on the mouse of the laptop.

“This is normal Saturday morning,” She stated with a shrug, “I have an appointment at nail salon.”

She stood up very excited to get the fuck out of the house and brushed past Mickey who was  
shooting her the dirtiest look he could muster.

“Really?” It was one of the only times he wanted Svetlana to stick around and give him shit,  
anything not to leave him in the house with Ian, “Where’s Mandy?”

“She is a squirrel head,” Svetlana answered simply, as she buttoned up her coat and grabbed her  
purse, “See ya.” And she was gone.

“Made sure to put cheese on the eggs,” Ian said, smiling at Mickey who was still standing there in  
a partial state of shock, “know you like 'em like that… cheesy.”

“I’m completely fucking aware that you just made a cheesy ass joke,” Mickey informed him  
opening the refrigerator and pulling out a jug of orange juice so he could begin to chug from it.

“Get my message last night?” Ian asked innocently. The reminder of the cock shot and the fact  
that the only thing keeping him from that cock was pride, a three foot distance and a few layers of  
clothes, made Mickey sputter and cough on the juice he was downing.

Mickey swallowed and placed the jug back in the fridge, “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,”

Mickey stated pursing his lips, his cheeks flushing pink.

“That’s weird. I didn’t get an error,” Ian said with a smirk.

Mickey just threw up his middle finger at the asshole and took a seat next to Yev at the table,  
“What’re you doin’?”

“ABC Mouse” Yev replied, keeping his eyes focused on the screen.

“It’s a phonics game,” Ian said bringing three plates to the table and placing them in front of  
Mickey, Yevgeny and himself, “It’ll help him with his letters so he can start to learn to read.  
Yevvy, take a break so you eat your breakfast.”

Yevgeny obliged and began to eat, unaware of the insane amount of tension at the table, “Daddy,  
will you come to the dinospaurs today?” He asked, his mouth full of bacon.

“Mouth closed,” Ian reminded him. Mickey watched the exchange, while  
gnawing on the inside of his cheek. He knew that Ian had stepped up while he was in Mexico, but  
it was strange to see it in action. This is what he had wanted before everything went to hell; to  
wake up to Ian cooking breakfast and correcting Yevgeny on manners shit that he didn't give a  
fuck about.

"The dinospaurs?" Yevgeny repeated after he swallowed, looking expectantly at Mickey.

"We're going to the Science Center," Ian said noticing the confusion on Mickey's face.

"Umm," Mickey cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I already got plans today, buddy, I'm sorry."

Ian read Mickey's disposition easily, well aware that he didn't want him there, "If you wanna just  
take him I could not go...." He suggested.

As clear as Mickey's discomfort was to Ian, Ian's hurt was apparent to Mickey. Part of him wanted  
to make Ian feel better, something he was so used to doing, but he held himself back, letting the  
redhead squirm instead.

"I want Daddy AND Ian to come. You're my best friends!" Yev exclaimed, clapping his hands as  
if it was settled, "Daddy and Ian, Daddy and Ian," he chanted excitedly.

Ian looked at Mickey and gave him guilty shrug, waiting for his response as the hyper three year  
old danced in his seat.

"Let me go get dressed," Mickey said taking one last bite of his eggs and giving Yevgeny a weak  
smile, "Then we'll go."

"Yes!" Yevgeny cheered holding his hand up for Ian to high five, which he did with a glint in his.

He jumped to his feet and started to shower the boy in kisses, "I love you so much, Yevvy! So  
much. You just helped me out big time."

Yevgeny giggled, trying to push Ian's tickling hands away. Ian couldn't get enough of Yev's laugh  
and how he opened his mouth wide and threw his head back, blue eyes alight just like his father  
did.

Ian cleaned breakfast up and got Yevgeny and himself all bundled up in their winter wear by the  
time Mickey emerged, "You look good," Ian said, taking in the brunet in his grey sweater and  
dark blue jeans. It too every ounce of self-control to not wrap him up in his arms and kiss those  
perfect, full lips.

"Ain't a date," Mickey reminded him, tying a scarf around his neck.

As they walked to the El, Yevgeny excitedly named off the dinosaurs he knew, while holding  
Ian's hand, "He's really smart," Ian told Mickey, who had his hands shoved in his pocket. and was  
doing his best not to look at Ian.

"Yeah?" He asked, sniffing a bit, eyes fixed focused on the sidewalk.

"Mmmhmm," Ian confirmed, "He's got an amazing memory, just like you."

Mickey didn't reply.

"Daddy, hold my hand," Yevgeny demanded, reaching his free hand up towards Mickey.  
He wanted to say 'no' because it would be too fucking much, but he couldn't reject his kid, so he  
steeled himself and enclosed his gloved hand around Yevgeny's. He willed himself not to look  
anywhere but forward, but his eyes betrayed him. He glanced over at Ian and nearly lost his breath  
when he caught green eyes gazing back at him. They stared at each other as Yevgeny babbled on  
completely unaware that the men holding his hands were close to cracking, both overwhelmed by  
the emotions the moment stirred up inside of them, "I want this," Ian said softly, his voice so  
earnest that his words stabbed Mickey in the heart.

Mickey shook his head and turned away so that he was looking up at the sky in the completely  
opposite direction. He silently pleaded with his traitor eyes not to let him down again by allowing  
tears to form inside of them. He heard Ian cough, attempting to cover up his own feelings.  
The ride to the Science Center was filled with Yevgeny's incessant chattering and Mickey trying  
to figure out who the fuck he took after. Svetlana wasn't so talkative and he sure as hell wasn't. He  
looked at Ian who was completely engaged in whatever Yev was yammering on about and  
sighed, shaking his head at the realization. Him. He took after him. Memories of Ian rocking baby  
Yevgeny while singing songs and telling the most absurdly stupid stories took over his mind. He'd  
drone on and on about "The Little Boy with Two Daddies" and fucking "Himdarella." Mickey  
rubbed his forehead trying to scrub away the nostalgia. He'd always acted like he hated it, but he  
hadn't... not really, even though it was unfathomably dumb.

They made it to the Science Center and Yevgeny immediately started pulling them around to each  
of the exhibits at a rapid pace.

"Does he ever get fucking tired?" Mickey asked Ian, the first real communication they'd had since  
Ian's admission on the South Side street.

"Not really," Ian replied with a grin.

"He's a lot like you, you know that?" Mickey groused, sitting down on a bench as Yevgeny ran to  
join other kids on play equipment shaped like the human heart.

"Look at me! Daddy, look at me! I'm gonna slide," Yevgeny called, waving frantically for  
Mickey's attention.

Mickey gave him a thumbs up and kept his eyes on his son as he went down the slide and stood  
up at the bottom really fucking proud of himself. Mickey didn't get what the big deal was, but fuck  
if he wasn't happy the kid was so ecstatic.

"You think?" Ian asked, surprised. He sat down next to Mickey, "you think he's like me?"

"Yeah, kinda," Mickey replied, keeping his eyes focused of Yevgeny.

"I love him," Ian stated, "I really love him." He was looking at Mickey's profile, willing the brunet  
to look at him.

Mickey just nodded.

"I love him and I love you," Ian said his voice wavering with the gravity of the statement. He  
rested his hand on Mickey's knee, only for his ex-boyfriend to knock it away quickly and shoot  
him an icy glare, "I do."

"You don't get to fucking do this, Ian," Mickey spat in a harsh whisper, "If you loved me, you  
would've fucking come with me."

"I was scared about leaving everything. About..." He began but was cut off by Mickey.

"Scared of leaving everything but me," He shot back, "Say it like it is." Ian could see the tears  
welling in Mickey's eyes and knew he was working hard as hell not to let them leak.

"If I'd known it wouldn't been forever, being down there... I wouldn't have been so scared. I  
would've fucking come. I didn't want to leave you," Ian cried, his volume becoming too loud for  
the location.

Mickey shushed him angrily, "But you fucking did. We're not doin' this here."

"Then where can we do it? When can we do it?" Ian asked desperately, "I won't make fucking  
excuses. I'm sorry.. ok? I won't. I should have gone with you. I regret it every minute of every  
fucking day."

"I'm serious," Mickey warned, gritting his teeth, "Shut the fuck up. We're done."

"This conversation is done? Or we're done?" Ian asked for clarification as his body shook.

"Ian," Mickey urged. All he wanted was for him to shut his goddamn mouth.

"The conversation or us?" He repeated, sighing when Mickey ignored him completely and  
jumped off the bench to join Yevgeny.

Those were the last words either of them said to each other until later that night when Ian was  
laying in his bed, listening to the saddest song he could find. He picked up his phone and sent  
Mickey a text, letting the lyrics speak the words he wished he could more eloquently express.

-I was the one you always dreamed of. You were the one I tried to draw. How dare you say it’s  
nothing to me. Baby you’re the only light I ever saw-

Chapter Eight: Pull You to the Edge

-I fucked up. I’m sorry I hurt you-

Mickey hardly looked over at him when he entered the house. He was sitting back on the couch,  
looking incredibly comfortable, while drinking a beer and laughing at a story Svetlana was telling.  
He couldn’t have felt more out of place if he tried, which was a bizarre feeling, because the  
Milkovich house had been like a second home to him. Everybody looked so light, content, and  
familial as they lounged around the living room, enjoying each other’s company. It turned Ian’s  
stomach to see Zev sitting next to Mickey, looking as secure as he used to feel. Mandy had told  
him to come over. Well, if he was being honest, he’d told Mandy that he wanted to come by and  
she told him he could.

“Hey,” Mandy said, jumping up from where she was cuddled under a blanket on the floor to kiss  
Ian’s cheek, “Made a plate for you. Did you have dinner?”

“I’m alright,” Ian said transfixed on Mickey. His smile was so beautiful. He loved everything  
about it; how it crinkled up the slight wrinkles by his eyes and lit up his whole face.

Most of all he loved when he was happy. He wanted to make him feel that way. He wanted  
Mickey’s smiles to be because of him.

“Beer?” Mandy offered, gently rubbing her hand on the back of Ian’s neck, noticing how he was  
staring at her brother.

Ian shook his head, wordlessly.

“C’mon,” She said tugging his hand to lead him back to the spot where she had been lying a few  
moments before. They sat down on the floor and Mandy tucked the blanket around their legs,  
while everyone continued to listen to Svetlana.

“No fucking way,” Iggy said, shaking his head in disbelief, “You’re lying.”

“You can ask Mandy,” Svetlana said with a cool shrug, “She will confirm.”

“It’s true,” Mandy replied matter-of-factly. She started to quietly explain what they were talking  
about to Ian, but he was too lost in Mickey to pay much attention. He nodded and feigned interest,  
while keeping his eyes trained on the brunet. He’d never craved someone like he craved Mickey.  
It took every ounce of self-control he had not to crawl on hands and knees to unbutton his pants,  
bring him into his mouth, and taste him. He felt like he was squirming out of his skin, so desperate  
for him that it was almost unbearable. He needed to feel him, touch him.

But it was Zev who was touching him. He had his arm draped casually around the couch behind  
Mickey and would occasionally tickle at his shoulder when he wanted to get his attention. Every  
so often Mickey would say something that would make Zev laugh the loudest, most obnoxious  
laugh Ian had ever heard. Mickey would shake his head with mock exasperation and grin as if it  
wasn’t. He used to look at Ian like that; roll his eyes at his corny jokes and try to hold back the  
laughter that Ian knew he was dying to let go. Mandy had told him that Zev was straight, that he  
and Mickey weren’t together, but there was obviously chemistry between them. Ian knew how  
easy it was to fall in love with Mickey.

It probably wouldn’t be hard to become enamored with Zev, either. He was entertaining,  
boisterous and effortlessly commanded the attention of the room. He made little quips that had  
everyone laughing and was an expert story-teller who kept his audience captivated, hanging on to  
his every word. He had charisma and magnetism along with his incredible good looks. Ian didn’t  
know what it was like to feel threatened, worried that the man you love could want somebody  
else. For Mickey, it had always been him. Ian had captivated him, he knew that, but now, he was  
enthralled by another man. He hated that he told Mickey he had had 'a boyfriend.' The idea that  
Mickey could feel this type of pain, or worse, was unbearable to him. He didn’t want that for him,  
to hurt like this, but he knew that when it came down to it, he had hurt him more brutally than he  
could even imagine.

They were sharing stories from Mexico and it was hard to miss the nostalgia present in Mickey’s  
eyes. Ian hadn’t considered that Mickey could have actually loved it there. That he could have  
been alive, while Ian had been so dead.

“Did you know this guy can sing?” Zev asked, fluffing up Mickey’s hair, “He has the most  
beautiful voice.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey laughed, shaking his head as if he didn’t want Zev to go on.

“He’s fucking awful,” Mandy disagreed with a grin. She’d heard Mickey sing a few times and it  
has been unimpressive to say the least.

“The people of Puerto Escondido disagree with that assessment,” Zev told her with a flourish,  
“Mickey was their Karaoke King.”

“Is that right?” Iggy asked, eyebrows raised, “How drunk were you?”

“Tequila is a beast, man,” Mickey informed him, draining his beer bottle.

“They couldn’t get enough. They said he was majestic,” Zev continued, moving his arm to  
Mickey’s shoulder and shaking him playfully, “Majestuoso.”

Ian knew that Zev wasn’t full of shit. It was easy for him to imagine. There had been a few times  
when he and Mickey had gotten so wasted that they did some really fucking horrible duets, but  
there was something stunning about Mickey’s singing and it wasn’t his tone or quality. It was the  
fact that he was happy, carefree, exactly how Ian wished he could be.

“Alright, alright, I’m gonna grab a smoke,” Mickey said clearly looking forward to escaping the  
conversation. He grabbed his coat from the rack and headed towards the back door.

“I’m gonna…” Ian began his voice trailing off as he jumped up to put his coat on.  
The room drew eerily quiet as its inhabitants considered the myriad of ways that Ian’s decision to  
follow Mickey outside could go wrong. Mandy, for one, debated telling him not to go, but she  
knew the stubborn redhead wouldn’t listen. So instead she watched as Ian hurried to join her  
brother.

“C’mon,” Mickey groused when he saw him, shaking his head and bringing his cigarette to his  
lips.

“I needed one, too,” Ian stated innocently, lighting up and leaning against the house. They stood  
there smoking in silence for longer than Mickey expected.

“You’re quiet tonight,” He said giving Ian a sidelong glance and sucking on his teeth, anxiously.  
He could feel his hand shake slightly as he drew in another inhale. He inaudibly shot a ‘fuck you’  
to his hand, heart, and Ian’s gorgeous face.

“So you liked Mexico?” Ian asked, attempting polite conversation when every fiber of his being  
wanted to be anything but well-behaved. The way Mickey’s full lips were wrapped around the  
filter was doing filthy things to him. He saw the slight darkening of the light brown paper where  
his saliva had touched it and licked his lips wishing he was licking past Mickey’s. Holding himself  
back was beginning to become physically painful.

“Fucking loved it,” Mickey replied, staring off into the distance dreamily as if the powerlines were  
palm trees, “Heading back down there someday.”

“To visit?” Ian questioned, wishing those blue eyes at him like they looked at practically  
everything else nowadays.

“Nah,” Mickey shook his head, “Gonna move there.”

“Wow,” Ian breathed, completely surprised by the statement.

“It’s fucking paradise,” Mickey said, studying his ex-boyfriend who was paler than he thought  
possible and looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach, “You would’ve loved it,” he added  
well aware that he was demoralizing him.

“It wasn’t easy for me,” Ian told him, pulling his lower lip in so he could bite it and stop it from  
quivering.

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?” Mickey asked, raising his eyebrows, “Poor Ian?”

Ian shook his head, “That came out wrong,” he closed his eyes, trying to find the words he needed  
to rephrase the statement, “You think I didn’t care? Like leaving you there didn’t tear me apart? It  
did,” He said, looking into Mickey’s eyes full of earnest. He was staring back at him, seemingly  
waiting for him to continue, so he did, “You’re all I thought of, day and night. You. That’s it,” He  
took a deep breath, trying mightily to keep it together, “I fucked up. Should’ve fucking gone with  
you. I hate myself for what I did to you, to us.”

Mickey stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and clicked his tongue, “Be honest. You couldn’t  
hate yourself. Too fucking cocky,” He looked up at Ian through long black eyelashes and gave  
him the smallest smirk. He didn’t want to show Ian that he was floored by his words and that fact  
that he actually dug deep enough to say them.

“I do,” Ian assured him, green eyes burning into blue, too wrapped up to acknowledge Mickey’s  
jab, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Don’t gotta be,” Mickey replied with a shrug, trying to play it off, act like he didn’t give a shit  
when they both knew he did, “What’s done is done, right?”

“Not us. Never done. We’re never done,” Ian asserted, dropping his cigarette into the ashtray and  
licking his lips, “Don’t care how long it takes for you to realize that, gonna wait for you.” He  
curved around so he was standing in front of Mickey, impossibly close. The heat of Mickey’s  
breath fanned over his cold skin as he slowly reached his gloved hand up to rest on Mickey’s  
cheek. Dissatisfied with the cloth between them, he tore off his gloves and tossed them to the  
ground, returning his hands to either side of Mickey’s face, shocked that he didn’t push him away,

“Never gonna be done loving you,” He pledged, looking him dead in the eye. Mickey’s breath  
hitched as Ian dropped chin down so he could slot his mouth against his gingerly. The kiss was  
led by their lips, each pair taking the time to remind the other how soft and tender they were; Ian’s  
sucked gently on Mickey’s while Mickey’s turned out slightly so Ian’s could taste the damp  
interior. The redhead sighed when he felt Mickey’s hand reach up and entangle into his hair,  
pulling a little before he palmed the back of his head and drew him in deeper. Their tongues  
tangled languidly, not wanting the moment to pass with Ian fearing that Mickey would back away  
and Mickey knowing that he should.

They were both so high on the heady rush of kissing the other man that they didn’t hear the door  
open, “Shit, I’m sorry,” Zev said as Mickey and Ian quickly jumped apart. He looked at them  
ruefully, eyes wide, retreating back into the house, and shutting the door behind him.  
Ian tried to pull Mickey close to him again, but the brunet shook his head and stepped away,  
“Please,” He pleaded, quietly, “please.”

“No,” Mickey panted, completely stupefied that he had let himself go there. He turned away and  
wiped his mouth before opening the door and disappearing into the house.  
Ian took as deep a breath as he could pull in of the bitter cold air and steeled himself before  
heading back in.

Mickey ignored him for the rest of the night, throwing back beer after beer as if he was trying to  
forget what had happened, how he’d let Ian in, though he thought he’d built the best defenses. Ian  
stared longingly at him, wanting him more now than he ever had. He’d had a taste of him, and he  
needed more. Mickey was sustenance and he was starving.

As Ian was putting on his coat to leave, Mickey ducked into his bedroom, chiding himself for  
being such a goddamn pussy. So much of him didn’t want to say goodbye to the idiot, because he  
wanted him to fucking stay, and he hated himself for desiring that. He hated himself more for  
staring at his phone wondering if Ian was going to text him. He hadn’t missed a night. He  
despised that he wanted it, wanted him. He laid back on his bed, the room slightly spinning. He  
had drunk too much, “Fuck,” he muttered rubbing his thumb and forefinger against his eyebrows.  
He was going to regret the fuck out this tomorrow, all of it. He felt his phone vibrate next to him  
and looked at the text from Ian.

-Want you so bad-

Mickey swallowed hard, determined not to reply.

-So hard for you. Got me fucking dripping since earlier. I’m dying to feel you-

If Mickey was a godly man, he would have prayed for some sort of fucking strength, because it all  
seemed to be gone. He was gone.

-Come over here then- He typed, staring at the screen for the moment, and deleting it before he  
could hit send. He dropped his hand down to the bulge pushing against his jeans and sighed,  
“Fuck. Fuck.”

He pulled up his hand and typed:

-Come over here then-

He hit send before he could delete it and immediately felt a strong wave of nausea wash over him.

-I’m coming-  
-Don’t-  
-You just told me to-  
-Changed my mind-  
-Please-  
-No-  
-Fuck Mick Please-  
-No-   
And with that he turned off his phone and threw it across the room, not sure if he was more  
frustrated with himself, Ian or his fucking dick.

Chapter Nine: The Perfect Drug

11:30-Really? Now ur not gonna answer  
11:31-I'm coming over  
11:33-Fuck. MICKEY. Tell me you'll open the door. I don't wanna wake up Yev  
11:36-My balls literally hurt, u tease  
11:40-Your ass is perfect. I want to bite it  
11:42-Plz let me fuck that ass. PLEASE  
11:44-You told me to come over and now ur not answering  
11:45-But you already know that  
11:48-Send me a picture of ur hole, put your fingers in  
11:48-Plz  
11:48-Spread ur cheeks out for me. I need to see it  
11:52-FUCK U  
11:53-Sorry  
11:55-I'd give it to u so fucking hard right now  
11:55-I need to be balls deep in your ass  
11:57-I'm dying & I don't think ur gonna answer  
12:05 (A picture of a hand with cum all over it) -Look what u made me do

Mickey read through the slew of messages he'd received from Ian the night before and couldn't  
help but laugh. He'd looked at them when he woke up, but honestly, he couldn't get enough.  
Though he'd never admit it out-loud, he got off on how desperate Ian was for him. He also found  
some twisted solace in the fact that he was suffering. He knew Ian would never find an ass as  
good as his, that was for damn sure. As relieved as he was that he had told the idiot not to come  
over and resisted falling back in bed with him, he fucking wanted to. Even when everything was  
screwed up between them, the sex was still incredible.

"Who's making you smile?" Zev asked interrupting Mickey's reverie.

"Nobody," Mickey said plainly, stapling a few papers and shoving them into a file, "When're we  
gonna stop pushing paper and get out on the street?

"S.A.Greer wants you on paperwork for another few days, which puts me on paperwork for  
another few days," Zev replied, gesturing to the messy desk he was sitting at, "I do not like  
paperwork so you're lucky I like you."

Mickey grinned at him and shook his head, "We gonna go get something to eat or what?"

Zev stamped the last paper in his stack, glanced at his watch and raised his eyebrows at Mickey,"It's 4:59.   
You trying to get me in trouble, Agent Milkovich? You're a bad influence."

"That's what they tell me," Mickey said with a smirk, "C'mon, let's get the fuck outta here."

"Don't know why you didn't eat the hummus I made you for lunch. I told you just the pita  
wouldn't fill you up. You have to have protein, Mickey. How many times do I have to go over  
this with you? You gotta feed the muscles. Before I got my hands on you, you were weak. You  
didn't know how to feed the muscles," Zev gesticulated as he ranted.

"Wasn't weak," Mickey contended, putting on his coat and noticing how the other agents in the  
room were attempting to act like they weren't paying attention to Zev and Mickey's dynamic.

"Now, look at these muscles," He said squeezing Mickey's bicep over his thick coat, "Uh, you're  
going to lose them if you don't feed them. Tell him Luke," Zev directed, looking over at the agent  
whose desk was parallel to Mickey's, "tell him all about what you have to do with the muscles."

"Gotta feed them," Luke said matter-of-factly, grinning at Zev. To say that the man was popular  
with his coworkers was an understatement. Everybody loved Zev. It was hard not to.  
Mickey just nodded and looked at Zev, gesturing with his head towards the door.

"Alright, alright," Zev said wrapping his scarf loosely around his neck, "Gotta head out boys, my  
baby needs to eat."

Their coworkers waved their goodbyes and Zev draped his arm around Mickey's shoulder as they  
exited the office.

"You gotta stop calling me your 'baby' man, I want the rest of the guys to take me seriously,"  
Mickey groused.

"They take you seriously. You're with me, nothing better than that, I promise you this," Zev  
assured him with a huge smile, "Do you doubt me?"

Mickey just rolled his eyes because of course he didn't. Zev was like a rock. He'd proven his  
loyalty time and time again. Opening up to people was difficult for him and he hadn't seen the  
purpose in having friends, until Zev. It was nice to have someone to rely on, someone that he  
knew had his back, someone that was rooting for him. When it came down to it, he couldn't  
expect those things from Ian. He thought he could, but Ian had shown him enough times that he  
was incapable of being that guy for him. Fuck, if he didn't wish that he could've been because Ian  
was always like his best friend with the added bonus of fucking. Man, he missed the banging. He  
needed to get laid. Maybe if he could release the tension he could stop thinking about Ian,  
dreaming about Ian, getting fucking hard over Ian.

Zev opened the car and Mickey jumped in, "Where are we going?"

"Keegan's?" Mickey suggested, "Could go for one of their fat ass burgers, feed my muscles and  
all that shit." He raised his eyebrows at Zev who shook his head with a tisk.

"You should eat fish. Nice and lean, full of protein," Zev informed him, pulling out of the parking  
space and heading towards the Irish pub, "I make the best salmon you ever tasted. When are you  
going to try it?"  
"Told you. Never," Mickey replied, simply, "Only fish I'll eat is in a stick."

"Once you take a bite you'll be converted. You'll be a fish man. I promise you this. I squirt a little  
lemon, sprinkle za'atar. You will love this. This weekend I'm cooking for you," Zev stated as if it  
wasn't up for debate, "You will take one bite, yes? You are man enough to take one bite...."

"Will you shut the fuck up?" Mickey groaned.

"Yes, but you will love it so much that you will want to talk all about it."

"Have you met me?" Mickey asked with a smirk.

"Thankful I did. My life would be so boring without your cute face," Zev said giving him a smile  
and pinching Mickey's cheek. He shook his head and pulled his phone out of his pocket.The car  
was quiet as Mickey fucked around on his phone and Zev focused on the road, "So, are we gonna  
talk about this or not?"

"Hmmm," Mickey asked hardly paying attention. He'd gotten a new app and it was the most  
badass thing he'd seen in a while.

"Are we going to talk about this, Mick?" Zev repeated as if Mickey should know what he was  
talking about.

"Grindr? What's there to talk about? I need to get fucked. You swipe one way if you think the  
guys hot and the other if you ain't into it. You don't really gotta do any work, just swipe," Mickey  
said reveling at how easy it was, "and it's like... instant dick."

"This is like Tindr for the gays?" Zev asked suddenly interested, "How did you find this?"

Mickey shrugged innocently, "Ads on the internet and shit."

"I never saw these ads," Zev stated with a mischievous grin, "Do you see these ads when you  
watch your porn?"

"Fuck off," Mickey replied clicking his tongue and giving him a grin.

"I'm happy! You need to get out there and meet people. Find a man to please you," Zev approved,  
"Get your mind off of Ian."

Mickey just licked his lips, remaining silent, not sure what do say, not wanting to get into it.

"So are we going to talk about this or are you going to pretend like this didn't happen?" Zev  
pushed, "because it did happen. I saw it happen. It happened and it looked like it was happening  
for a while before I came out there. Lots of happening, lots of tongue. Like an abnormal amount  
of tongue. So much tongue."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about," Mickey stated knocking his knuckle against his nose and  
looking out the window.

"Everybody is allowed a moment of weakness," Zev said softly, voice taking a more serious tone  
than was typical for him, "You should not feel bad."

"This is the second time you called me weak today," Mickey pointed out, "Do I gotta fuck you  
up?"

"Like you could," Zev laughed ruffling up Mickey's hair and getting the middle finger back in  
response, "The better question is: Do I gotta fuck you up? You know I'm not gay, but if you want  
me to fuck you to get your mind off of Ian. I will do this."

Mickey choked out a laugh, "Fuck off, man."

"I will do this for you. He's... pretty. I see this. But he looks soft. I'm sure that with what I'm  
working with, I will get you to forget him. Then you will be fixed," Zev said plainly, "and I will  
have done my friendly duty."

"Friendly duty, huh? That's what you're gonna call it," Mickey laughed, shaking his head in  
disbelief, "I'm startin' to think you just wanna plow my ass."

"I'm not into ass, but I will get into yours if it will help you," Zev said companionably.

"That's... weirdly nice, I guess." Mickey rubbed his fingers across his eyebrows, "Nah, man, I...  
uh, I dunno. Nothing gets my mind off of him."

"I have a really big cock, you know this. This will get your mind off him. He seems... dainty."

"He's an animal and he's fucking packing," Mickey stated with a groan, "We gotta stop talking  
about this. I can't think about fucking him or I'm gonna fuck him, and I don't wanna fuck him."

"But you really wanna fuck him," Zev filled in.

"I really wanna fuck him," Mickey sighed, rubbing his forehead, "He's like a drug," and Mickey  
hated the fact he was addicted. He'd done his fair share of drugs and he'd never had a high that  
was as heady and intense as being with Ian was. He was like cocaine, making his heart race and  
blood pressure rise. The euphoria of heroin had nothing on the feeling of Ian pushing deep inside  
of him and no amount of ecstasy matched the sensation of Ian's lips pressed against his.

"We are DEA," Zev reminded him with a tisk, "We don't fuck with drugs."

Mickey just nodded, watching the South Side store fronts blur as they drove down Franklin  
towards the restaurant. He wasn't a fucking junkie, he could say 'no' to him. He did last night and  
he'd do it again and again until it got easier. Eventually it had to get easier, right? Withdrawals  
didn't last forever.

*

The guy told him to come to his apartment on the North Side. It felt weird and intimate to go to  
some dude's place, but he figured it was better than bending over in the alley. His bio said that he  
was a 'Dominate hung top looking for a bossy bottom.' He figured he fit the bill.

The place was nice, clean and contemporary with artwork on the walls and fresh flowers in a vase  
on the counter. The guy was pretty hot with a body full of tattoos and eyes as blue as Mickey's,

"Gotta admit I'm pleasantly surprised," He told Mickey when he took a seat on the couch, "Your  
picture was kinda blurry."

Mickey nodded, "Uh, yeah. Don't take a lot of pictures." He'd chosen the only solo picture he had  
of himself in his phone, nonplussed by the fact that it was a couple years old and shitty quality. He  
figured that if a guy wanted to fuck enough, they'd squint their eyes and make a fucking decision.

"You should. You're hot..." He complimented waiting for Mickey to fill in his name.

"Mickey," He offered, having a difficult time looking the guy in the face. He was picking at his  
nail bed, bringing his finger to his mouth when he couldn't get a good grasp on the hangnail.

"Jake," The guy said reaching over to shake his hand.

"What do you do, Mickey," Jake asked popping the tab off a can of beer and handing to him  
before tending to his own can.

"Uh, I work for the DEA," Mickey responded, thrown that he could answer the question with an  
actual profession. He'd never been able to do that before.

"I'm a cop," He said with a grin, "We may have worked together in the past or something."

"I'm new to it," Mickey shook his head, "So, probably not."

"I would've remembered you anyway," Jake flirted, "Wouldn't forget that face."

"Oh yeah?" Mickey asked biting his lip.

"Mmm yeah," Jake confirmed leaning over to kiss Mickey. He tried to focus on the kiss and forget  
about Jake being a cop. He didn't want to run into the guy in the future. He wanted nameless,  
faceless cock. Not potential complications.

"You wanna watch a movie or something?" Jake offered as he pulled away.

"I wanna fuck," Mickey informed him, narrowing his eyes, "Not trying to date."

Jake smiled wide and laughed, "We could do that then." He signaled for Mickey to follow him  
into he bedroom.

The sex was hot, some of the best Mickey had in a while. Jake gave it to him good and he spent  
the night with a cock in his ass, so all in all it was a pretty alright time.

"Will I see you again?" Jake asked looping his arms around Mickey's waist and kissing his neck in  
a way that made him warm.

"Maybe," Mickey replied, "You got my number, so..."

"I'll call you," Jake promised, "Would love to see you again."

Mickey nodded unsure of what to say. He gave Jake one last kiss and exited his apartment. He  
headed to the El, thinking about how hot, nice and good in the sack Jake was and wondering why  
he felt... nothing.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed when he saw another series of texts from Ian.

10:50 -I'm sorry about last night  
10:53 -Just want you to know I'm thinking about you  
10:54 -Not just fucking you  
10:55 -I miss you  
10:58 -I'm not gonna lie, I am still thinking of fucking u  
11:00 -but I'd be happy to just hold u right now  
11:02 -Can I come over and hold u

Mickey gasped at the last message, almost shaking in disbelief wondering if Ian didn't just own  
real estate in his heart, but in his head as well.

11:05 -You are the perfect drug  
Without you everything just falls apart  
It's not as much fun to pick up the pieces-

Chapter Ten: Weeping Willow

-Hunger hurts & I want him so bad, it kills cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up-

Ian threw his phone down. It had been almost a week since they kissed and Mickey hadn't replied  
to any of his messages. He tried being funny, sexy, sweet, and nothing would garner a reply. He  
knew he should just stop, lay off of him, but he couldn't. He didn't want one day to pass with  
Mickey thinking that he wasn't on his mind. He wanted him to know that he consumed his  
thoughts, had consumed them for years. He was willing to swallow his pride if it meant making  
sure that he gave some back to Mickey. He'd done enough fucking with his head over the last  
several years that he figured finally being consistent would a positive thing. Maybe it would prove  
to Mickey that he could be an enduring boyfriend; that he could be constant, reliable and the man  
that Mickey deserved. He wanted to be that guy, but he feared that Mickey would never be able to  
see him that way, that the damage he'd caused to their relationship was irreparable.

He felt like he was 15 years old again, chasing after a boy who showed little to no interest in him  
and only opened himself up during moments of weakness. Back then the smallest glances from  
Mickey would give him butterflies. Even all those years ago he knew there was something there,  
something indisputably special between them. What they had, you couldn't fake; it was raw,  
magnetic, exceptional. He'd been with guys before Mickey, after Mickey and nobody ever came  
close to comparing. He was the man that he was supposed to be with, meant to love in the most  
wild and messy way every single day of their lives.

He always knew Mickey was the one, but things got complicated and he got scared; scared to  
become a burden on him with his swings, scared to face the realization that Mickey was behind  
bars and there wasn't anything he could do about it, scared to be alone, and then scared to start his  
life over in Mexico. He had been relentlessly, debilitatingly afraid. He'd never considered himself  
a coward. Growing up a Gallagher, he knew how to scrap. He had taken those survival skills and  
channeled them into ROTC where he'd gained skills and confidence. He was always strong, solid,  
and dependable... until he wasn't.

Order and structure gave way to chaos and release. Though he'd felt free, he was held tight in the  
talons of a beast that took over his body and beat him into submission. When he was low, the  
beast would convince him that he didn't need anyone and nothing was worth it. The world wasn't  
bigger than his bed, where he'd lay numb and heavy with mood. He'd be too far gone to will  
himself to take any corrective action, to feel something other than empty. As if tethering him to the  
bed wasn't enough torture, the beast would wrestle him out and flood his veins with boundless  
energy, while feeding him lies about the world of possibilities outside his bedroom. He'd be lead  
to believe he was invincible and that erratic decisions held no consequence. Just when he thought  
he knew the direction he was heading in, the beast would make him swerve and turn, powerless,  
possessed. That's when the fear began to build and find its place, when he realized he'd lacked  
control of his body and mind. The medication helped, but he'd lost trust in himself and it seemed  
almost impossible to build back. So Ian the fearless became Ian the fearful, indecisive, and weak.  
The beast was at bay but that didn't stop it from pervading him with self-doubt. He had spent the  
last few years doing what he was supposed to, becoming a cog in the machine because he no  
longer trusted himself to be free, to really feel. He didn't want to be scared anymore. He wanted to  
be brave. In earning back Mickey's trust, maybe he'd begin to trust himself again.

He sighed and pulled himself out of bed. All he did was ruminate about Mickey, knocking around  
the same thoughts in his head ad-nauseam. He dreamed of him, then woke up in the morning with  
him still on his mind. He was tortured by thoughts of him. Mickey was the lyrics to every love  
song, the kisses in every movie, he was everything and it was exhausting.

He peeked out the window and was glad to see that it wasn't snowing. He needed to get out and  
run, chase the endorphins that may make him feel better. He put on his gear and headed down to  
the kitchen to grab some breakfast, surprised to see Fiona and a guy cooking pancakes together.

"Hey Sweet-face!" Fiona greeted with a bright and beaming smile, "This is Tyler, Ty, my brother  
Ian.

The guy extended his hand and Ian shook it with a congenial grin.

"What are you up to today?" Fiona asked pouring more batter into the pan.

"Gonna go for a run and then head over to spend some time with Yevgeny, haven't seen him all  
week," Ian replied grabbing a banana and taking a big bite.

Fiona face dropped, "Do you think that's a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Ian questioned, raising his eyebrows suspiciously, "See him every  
Saturday."

"I know, it's just..." She paused as if she was grappling with whether or not she should make her  
next statement, "since Mickey's been home, you seem different. I don't know if it's good for you to  
be over there, around him, you know?"

Ian sighed and shook his head in disbelief, "I seem 'different,' huh?"

"I'm just saying..." Fiona began, but she was cut off immediately by Ian.

"I know what you're saying, you're saying what you always say: That I have my shit together  
now, that somehow Mickey'll fuck that up," He stated his voice raising with emotion, "When are  
you gonna realize that he was never the problem? My mind was the fucking problem!"

"Shhh, c'mon," Fiona soothed, dropping the spatula and attempting to rest her hand on Ian's  
shoulder, disappointed when he jolted away, "This is what I'm talking about, Ian. You just get so  
worked up. I don't want you to..."

"I'm not worked up," Ian yelled, causing Fiona to look at him like she had proven her point, "I  
care about something! I feel passionate! Alive! Is it better that I just keep existing? That I feel  
nothing? You think somehow that's healthier?" He glanced at Tyler who was trying really hard to  
blend into the background, clearly uncomfortable by the argument, "Yeah, if you're gonna stick  
around, you gotta get used to this," Ian informed him with a huff. He went to put on his jacket and  
sneakers, while Fiona followed after him, rattling off her hopes for his future and complimenting  
how well he was doing. He tuned her out, his one-track mind, knowing that the only future for  
him was one with Mickey. He would never be swayed to think otherwise, not again. He wasn't  
afraid to choose Mickey, he was just terrified that he wouldn't choose him back.

"Ian, are you listening to me?" Fiona asked, her voice shrill enough to cut through his thoughts.

"Fi," Ian began, standing up once his shoes were tied, "I love Mickey. Get it? I love him. I'm  
going to be with him one day and it's gonna be forever. I'm never gonna let him go again."

"You think that you're going to marry Mickey Milkovich?" Fiona scoffed, flabbergasted, "Ian,  
that's just..." She shook her head, "that's crazy."

"You don't get it. You never got it. Mickey was so good to me, but it was never enough for you.  
You think we're so much better than him? At least he can commit to someone he loves. You and  
me..." He waved his hand between them, "we're the fuck ups. I can see that now. Maybe you  
need to take a long look in the mirror. I already did and hated what I saw, so I'm changing  
whether you like it or not."

Fiona stood slack-jawed. It had been a while since Ian had spoken to her about anything below  
the surface.

"I'll see you later," He said uncomfortably, ready to be done with the conversation. He left before  
she could say anything else and as he ran down the block, feeling the cool air on his face, he  
started to feel just a little more free.

*

He didn't get to the Milkovich house until around dinner time, having been called into work for a  
few hours midday. Mandy had the dinner/after hours shift, so he was feeling particularly anxious  
as he pushed open the door and headed inside. The house smelled strange, sort of fishy, and there  
was soul music filling the air, crackly but wonderful just the same. Everything felt different than it  
ever had before, light and buoyant, rather than dark and depressed. He wasn't expecting the scene  
that he saw when he walked into the kitchen. Zev was standing over the stove, speaking loudly  
about food, while Yevgeny sat on Mickey's lap at the kitchen table, both hanging onto the man's  
every word. All eyes darted to him as he approached.

"Ian!" Yevgeny exclaimed, jumping out of Mickey's arms to run into Ian's.

"Hey buddy," Ian said hugging him close and snuggling his face into the nape of the little boy's  
neck. He wanted to keep his face there and cry, overwhelmed by the scene that was playing out in  
front of him.

"I missed you," Yev told him as Ian reluctantly put him down.

"Missed you too," Ian promised, messing up his dark hair and forcing himself to smile down at  
him. He looked up at Mickey who had crossed his arms over his chest, "Is Svetlana here?"

"Nah, told her to go out with her friends," Mickey replied, coolly, "You gotta start calling them  
before you just show up here. When I wasn't around guess it didn't make a difference when you  
came by but, I'm here now," he paused biting his lip slightly, a nervous tell, "so you gotta call."  
Ian felt tears prickle in the corner of his eyes, but he nodded his understanding, "Do you want me  
to... I mean, I can go. I don't wanna..." he sniffed, "interrupt anything."

Yevgeny had climbed back onto Mickey's lap and was looking at Ian confused, "What's wrong?"  
he asked tentatively.

"Nothing, buddy," Ian said trying desperately to keep it together, "I just wanted to come by and  
say 'hi' but I gotta get going. I can't stay tonight."

Zev looked over at him with an expression that could only be described as pity, as he stood like an  
alien on a strange planet.

"You're here," Mickey stated, rubbing the side of his nose with his knuckle, "You can, you know,  
play with the kid or whatever."

Ian shook his head, needing to get he fuck out of there before he lost it, "Can't," He walked close  
to Mickey and Yevgeny and planted a soft kiss on the boy's forehead, "We'll play tomorrow with  
Aunt Mandy."

Yevgeny gave him an approving grin, "Can we go to the aquarium and see the fishies?"

"Whatever you want," Ian assured him. He looked at Mickey and felt his heart stop when the blue  
eyes quickly averted from his gaze, instead focusing on the man by the stove.

Ian said a polite goodbye to Zev, apologized for interrupting and then he was gone. Running as  
fast as he could down the street, tears streaming down his cheeks, his freedom crushing down on  
him. Alone.

When he got home he laid in bed for hours, debating whether to message Mickey. He didn't know  
if he could take another non-response, especially after how incredibly cold things were between  
them.

Unable to stop himself, he typed lyrics from the song that had been filling the Milkovich house  
with such beautiful vibes.

-I'll be the moon when the sun goes down, just to let you know I'm still around. That's how strong  
my love is-

He buried his face in his pillow, surprised that he had any tears left to cry. He was startled when  
he felt his phone vibrate next to him. He figured it was Mandy checking in, but it wasn't. It was  
Mickey.

-Things are fucked up-  
His hands shook as he typed a response.  
-I fucked them up. I'm sorry. I miss u-  
The response came quickly. He could feel his heart beating hard in his chest, could hear it in his  
ears.  
-Not all u but mostly u-  
He smiled, imagining the smirk on Mickey's face.  
-Do I have a shot?-  
-?-  
-What do I need to do to prove it to u?-  
-?-  
-I love you-  
-Hated 2night. Sorry-  
-Hated it too. Don't blame u-  
He waited for a response that never came. He debated saying something else, but thought better of  
it, because there didn't seem to be much more left to say and he had something he hadn't had an  
hour earlier... hope.

Chapter Eleven: High

Mandy made her way over to her bedroom window and cracked it open, knowing that if the smell  
of weed permeated out of the room, Svetlana would have her ass. She handed her weed and  
papers to Ian to roll.

"Your hands are so much smaller than mine," He mused as he got to work, "You'd think you  
wouldn't suck so bad at rolling joints."

"Fuck off," Mandy laughed watching over his shoulder as he carefully manipulated the paper. He  
handed her the joint and rolled one for himself.

They sat on her queen size bed, against the headboard and lit up, "Yev had fun today," Ian said  
taking a deep inhale. He sputtered a cough from the intensity of Mandy's stash, "Fuck this shit is  
strong."

"Amateur," Mandy teased with a smirk, "Got it from Cassie at work. Her boyfriend deals. I think  
he may cut it with something. It always fucks me up majorly."

"Would've been nice to know," Ian huffed taking another hit.

"Like it would've stopped you," Mandy retorted raising her eyebrows. Ian shrugged and laughed  
lightly, "He did have fun," She confirmed, "He reminds me so much of Mick, it's crazy."

He nodded his agreement. The three year old had spent the afternoon, excitedly leading them  
around the aquarium, pointing at the the different fish and making up stories about them. It never  
ceased to amaze Ian how vibrant and creative Yev was. When they were in the gift shop, he had  
taken to a stuffed fish and a Lego shark. Ian bought him the items as soon as he showed interest  
and added another stuffed fish to the mix for good measure, He was pretty sure that Svetlana was  
going to give him shit about spoiling the kid, but he couldn't imagine denying him of anything he  
wanted, especially when he had the money for it. He wanted him to have the type of childhood  
that he and Mickey had never been afforded. He didn't think it was possible to love Yevgeny any  
more than he did, but as the days passed, his mannerisms and attitude became more like Mickey's  
and Ian fell even more head over heels. He wanted to be with them both for the rest of his life, "I  
love him."

"You love both of them," Mandy stated plainly licking her lips and bringing the joint back to her  
lips.

"Don't deserve either," Ian sighed, "Left them both."

"Don't start," Mandy warned, leaning her head on his shoulder, "Give it time." It was her  
perpetual advice to Ian. Deep down she knew that the two idiots were meant to be together, but  
when it came down to it, she didn't blame Mickey for protecting himself. They'd been fucked over  
and abandoned enough times in their lives to know how important it was to watch out for their  
hearts. Her brother wasn't weak, but when it came to Ian, he pulled him in even when he should  
have been pushing him away. She'd never taken sides, but that didn't mean that she didn't want to  
see her best friend treat her brother better. She knew when it came down to it that Ian wasn't the  
same person he had been when she and Mickey first grew close to him. He was less confident and  
second-guessed himself rather than acting like the stubborn, driven redhead they both had become  
smitten with. Mandy liked seeing Ian fight for Mickey. His passion and persistence reminded her  
of the Ian he was before his whole world shifted on his axis. It was as if after all this time, it wasn't  
just Mickey that had come home.

"It's just... I can't get him outta my head," Ian said running his fingers through his hair.

"You're obsessed." Mandy stated the obvious.

"I am," Ian confirmed not even trying to deny it, "He go out a lot?" He asked trying to sound  
casual but failing miserably. Mickey had been at work when he arrived at the Milkovich house to  
pick up Mandy and Yev for the aquarium and hadn't been home for dinner.

"A fair amount," Mandy replied, "He's with Zev a lot and the rest of the time he's probably just  
fucking random guys. I don't think he's looking for anything serious."

"Really Mands?" Ian scoffed shrugging his shoulder up so she'd move her head. She did and  
rested it back against the headboard with a sigh.

"C'mon. You didn't think he was just... not having sex, did you?" Mandy shot back, "That's pretty  
unrealistic."

"I'm not," Ian stated quietly, taking the most complete inhale he could from the joint. He needed to  
be way higher than he was, "I mean, I just don't wanna hear about it."

Mandy rested her hand on Ian's knee, "I get it, I do. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..." She paused,

"You know, maybe you should go out and get laid. It may relieve some of your stress."

"Not interested," Ian said, "I just jerk off thinking of your brother."

"Eww fuck you!" Mandy cried burying her face in her hands, "Too much information."

"You gave me too much, now I'm giving it back," Ian said with a laugh, wrapping her head in a  
loose headlock and kissing her thick, raven hair, "This shit is definitely laced," He took another  
drag. The last few pulls had gone straight to his head and he was on the verge of pleasantly fucked  
up.

"Opium, ecstasy? What d'you think?" Mandy questioned, feeling pretty gone herself, "I'm  
thinking maybe both."

"Is this gonna kill us?" Ian asked nervously, feeling his heart begin to race.

"Holy shit!" Mandy guffawed, "You're always so fucking paranoid!"

"Eat my ass," Ian laughed, squinting his eyes, attempting to focus. Things were getting hazy. He  
felt like a fog had filled the room and everything was calmed, except for Mandy who was  
laughing maniacally.

"You'd like that wouldn't you? You into rimming?" She fell into another fit of giggles.

"Only if you're as good at it as your brother is. Holy shit, that man can eat an asshole," Ian said  
with a smirk as Mandy squealed and shrieked a chorus of 'Ewws.'

"You can't say 'holy shit' and 'eat an asshole' in the same sentence," Mandy cried, "That's SO not  
sexy."

Ian just rolled his eyes and chuckled along with her infectious laugh. Both of them looked shellshocked when the door swung open and a very annoyed Mickey stood glaring at them, "You two halfwits are so fucking loud. You're gonna wake Yev up," he chided.

"Fuck, sorry," Ian muttered trying to avoid staring at Mickey in his wife beater and sweatpants.

His body was so solid and he looked insanely hot. It hurt to know he couldn't throw him down on  
the bed and pound the hell out of his ass. What he wouldn't give to hear his name tumble out of  
those pretty lips again. He could feel himself getting hard at the thought

"Shhhh, now you're being loud," Mandy hissed back over-dramatically. Mickey just rolled his  
eyes at her, completely unimpressed and pulled the door closed.

"Smells like a head shop in here," He said sitting at the edge of the bed and taking a sip of his  
beer, "Forget I'm a DEA agent now?"

Mandy gave him the finger and made an obnoxious show of bringing the joint to her lips and  
inhaling with a groan, "Want a hit?"

"Fuck off," Mickey said peeling the label off of his beer, eyes avoiding Ian all together.

"Shit, should we not be..." Ian began nervously, glancing from Mandy to Mickey and then back  
again. He could feel his cheeks flushing pink.

"Shhh," Mandy laughed, "It's fine. You think Mick's gonna arrest us?"

"Maybe not you..." Ian whispered loudly, looking over at Mickey who looked back at him  
through thick eyelashes, "he hates me though."

"You know I can hear you, right?" Mickey asked, trying to hold back the laugh that was desperate  
to escape. Ian looked so surprised, as if he didn't realize that he had spoken the words aloud and it  
was painfully cute. Mickey wanted to punch him in his face. He missed the days where they'd lay  
on the baseball field getting high off their asses then fuck with abandon.

"Shit," Ian muttered.

"Put the joint down," Mickey directed him, voice even but firm.

Ian did as he was told, resting it on the side of the ashtray on Mandy's nightstand.

"Stand up," Mickey said, putting his beer on the ground and rising to his feet. He had a good buzz  
going which was even more apparent as he stood.

"Should I..." Mandy began gesturing towards the door, feeling the heavy tension in the air.  
Mickey shook his head and approached Ian, wrapping his ankle around Ian's calf so he'd fall  
forward on the bed. He could hear Ian punch out an astonished exhale as Mickey took his wrists  
and clasped them behind his back. Getting Ian into the position turned him on almost instantly, but  
Ian's panicking pants reminded him of his role. He bit his lip so he wouldn't chuckle as Ian cried  
out, "This was a trap!"

Mandy rubbed her forehead as if she was completely stupefied by her best friend and tsked at  
Mickey who was beaming from ear to ear.

He dropped his voice down low, trying to sound as serious as possible,   
"Payback," he said matter-of-factly, "Your bitch ass ain't gonna make it in prison."

Ian began to chant a series of 'fucks' getting more worked up by the moment.

"You're a fucking asshole," Mandy scolded, leaning over so she could knock Mickey's hands off  
of Ian, "You know how paranoid he gets."

"Lucky I don't hate you as much as I should," Mickey laughed, sitting back down on the bed and  
draining his beer.

"Prick," Ian said breathlessly, grabbing the joint and taking a huge hit. He looked at Mickey out of  
the side of his eye and grinned when he caught sight of his mischievous smirk.

"Want another one?" Mandy asked Mickey gesturing to his beer as she climbed off the bed.  
He nodded the affirmative, watching as she left the room and closed the door behind her. If it had  
been a few years ago, he and Ian would have immediately been on each other, sharing desperate  
kisses, needing to be close, but it wasn't. Regardless, Ian seemed intent on making the most of the  
private moment by putting his joint down and moving down the bed towards him. He sat up a  
little straighter, as Ian drew closer, "Want you," Ian stated softly, ghosting his lips over Mickey's,

"Can I kiss you?"

"No," Mickey replied, swallowing hard. It was taking every bit of self-control he could muster to  
deny him, but he was well on his way to drunk and he didn't want lose any semblance of control  
over the situation between them that he had gained.

"Please," Ian begged, slinking down onto him; arms looped around his waist, lips pressed against  
his bare shoulder. He could feel the want coursing through his body, but he had to remain strong  
and remind himself that the physical was never an issue for them, it was everything else that  
fucked them up.

"No," Mickey repeated, he could hear how uncertain his voice sounded, the waver, the need.  
Ian lifted his mouth off of Mickey's skin and looked him dead in the eye, green melting into blue,

"Have sex with me," He breathed, "just this once."

Mickey scoffed and looked away, feeling Ian's eyes still fixed on him. They both knew that when  
floodgates opened, there would be no going back, "Just this once, huh?" Mickey asked  
sardonically, rubbing his knuckle against his nose, returning his eyes to Ian's.

The redhead nodded his head and looked hopeful, "Promise..."

Mandy opened the door and Ian quickly scuttled back away from Mickey.

"That wasn't too obvious," Mandy stated sarcastically, tossing Mickey the beer and opening her  
own, "If you're gonna fuck, go do it in your room. I just washed my sheets."

"There's no fucking," Mickey grimaced, opening the beer and chugging half of it immediately. He  
could see Ian's pout out of the corner of his eye.

"Staying with you tonight, ok?" Ian asked Mandy, yawning sleepily and turning on his side so he  
could snuggle up against her.

"Of course," She said, taking a sip of her beer and then placing it on her nightstand so she could  
cuddle with him.

"This is way too demented for me," Mickey stated matter-of-factly, draining the rest of his bottle  
and letting out a deep belch.

"Like you and Zev?" Ian asked simply, earning him a smack in the arm from Mandy.

"Better shut your dumb mouth about shit you don't know about," Mickey warned him.

"Tell me then..." Ian prompted.

"Shhh," Mandy soothed, pushing Ian's hair out of his face, trying to shut him up before he really  
pissed Mickey off.

"Jealousy always looked kinda shitty on you, Gallagher," Mickey snarked, standing up to leave  
the room.

"Used to like it," Ian reminded him, his voice sounding much less strong than it had just moments  
before.

"Your jealous ass?" Mickey questioned, but there was no use in posturing, they both knew he did.  
Mickey took in the sight of Ian's eyes fluttering closed, entranced by how peaceful and innocent  
he looked. He'd spent so much time convincing himself that he was a monster, but he wasn't... not  
really. He muttered his goodnight and headed back into his room.

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, way too drunk to trust himself to make any sound decision.  
Against his better judgement he picked up his phone and began to type.  
-Why are you so goddamn beautiful? Ur killing me-

As soon as he heard Ian's phone 'ping' in the other room, he regretted sending it. He was opening  
a door that he wasn't sure he wanted open. He needed to stop drinking, because when he drank,  
getting fucked by Ian was all he could think about. The reply was almost instantaneous:

-Can I come in there?-  
-No-  
-Please, we can just sleep. Need u-  
-Yeah right-  
-Yes?-  
-No. We wouldn't fucking sleep and u know it-  
-I'll be good-  
-Wouldn't want u to-  
-I'll be bad then. Fuck u good-  
-Fuck off-  
-Ur a cocktease-  
-Ur a cockslut- He smirked and then tried to will himself to not to think of how true the statement  
was.  
-Only for u-  
-Go to bed-  
-Did you mean cum to bed?-

Mickey couldn't help but laugh. Corny motherfucker.

-If u try to sneak in here in the middle of the night I'll shoot u-  
-Intense-  
-Ur creepy-  
-Fuck u-  
-U wish-  
-I do-  
Mickey sighed and set his phone down. He was way too proud of himself for not giving in to Ian's  
siren song, knowing that he'd be able to think straight again when he was sober.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Twelve: Let You Run Away

He knew he shouldn’t be going in there. Mickey had told him not to, but he needed to touch him,  
hold him, kiss him or at least try. It was too much knowing that there was only a thin wall  
separating them. Maybe Mickey’s walls were thicker, but he was determined to break them down  
and endear himself to him. He wanted Mickey to feel his love down to his bones, have it fill his  
heart, and flow through his veins. He opened the door hesitantly, still trying to convince himself  
that Mickey’s threats of bodily harm were empty. He watched as Mickey’s figure stirred in the  
twin size bed, the upper half of his body covered with the navy blue comforter, leaving his calves  
and feet sticking out, subject to the chilly air.

“Gallagher,” Mickey groaned sleepily, picking his head up off the pillow in confusion. His face  
was flushed pink and his eyes were weary.

“Hi,” Ian whispered, standing a few feet away from the bed, afraid to move forward, thinking he  
may have made a mistake. He reminded himself that he’d already entered and there was no use  
being scared and took a step towards the bed, towards Mickey. He sat down tentatively by his feet  
and reached for one, “Freezing,” he said softly, almost to himself as he cupped his hands around  
Mickey’s icicle of a foot “I used to keep them so warm, remember? You’d tuck them between my  
legs. I never let you get cold.”

Mickey moved the comforter aside, out of his line of sight, so he could look at Ian with skepticism  
as he continued to thaw his skin. Ian dropped the foot and went for the other, performing the same  
action.

“You’re too cold,” He told him, “Why are you so cold?” He watched as Mickey bit his bottom lip,  
unsure of what to do. He could feel his body shudder under his touch, “Am I warming you up  
yet?"

“I don’t know,” Mickey said incredulously, “Do you think you are?”

“I hope I am,” He admitted, placing his foot down gently. The room was so dark, the mood  
heavy, the tension thick. He could hear Mickey’s breath growing shallow as he slowly crawled up  
the bed, resting his hands on the mattress beside each of his shoulders. They were face to face,  
their noses practically touching, “Can I kiss you now?” He asked, hoping the answer was different  
than the one he’d received earlier that night. Mickey licked his lips, leaving Ian unsure if it was  
subconscious reaction or an invitation, but the hand cradling the back of his head pulling him  
down towards him was a clear indication of what he wanted. Their lips melted together, feeling  
made for each other, fitting perfectly. Ian dropped to one of his elbows and rested his other hand  
on Mickey’s soft cheek, deepening the kiss. Their tongues tangled and twisted serenely, needing  
to taste more than entice, “I love you,” Ian breathed against his lips, “So much.”

“You say it with your words,” Mickey whispered back, blue eyes sad, “but you never show me.”

“Showing you right now,” Ian told him burying his face into his neck and inhaling him deeply.

“Not like this,” Mickey opposed, moving his fingers to Ian’s chin so that he could tilt his face back  
up and look him in the eye, “Your actions. You never choose me.”

“I want to choose you, want to be better to you,” Ian promised, “I’m gonna be better.”

“Don’t know if you can be,” Mickey replied wistfully, averting his eyes and gazing towards the  
posters on his walls instead of looking at Ian, “Wish you could.”

“Let me try. Never gonna hurt you again,” He assured him. Mickey looked at him, his eyes full of  
hope, like he was desperate to believe him, “I mean it, Mick. I love you. I’m going to prove it to  
you every single day.”

“What if I keep pushing you away,” Mickey asked, as he pulled him closer, bringing Ian’s body  
down flank against his own, “What are you gonna do then?”

Ian put his hands on Mickey’s cheeks and stared into his eyes, “I’m gonna keep coming back. I’m  
gonna fight for you.” He closed the small space between them and pressed his lips against  
Mickey’s again. The kiss was tender, sweet, and painful, full of the loss of what they’d had, what  
they truly wanted.

“What if I don’t let you win?” Mickey questioned, flipping Ian over so that he was on top of him,  
a power struggle that Ian was glad to succumb to. He began to roll his hips, rubbing his ass against  
the erection straining under the redhead’s boxer briefs. Ian let out a hushed moan, his mouth  
dropping open as he watched the gorgeous man hover over him.

“You will,” He crooned, the words falling off as Mickey placed his finger on his lips. He sucked it  
into his mouth and looked at him burning with want.

“I won’t,” Mickey assured him, “Not gonna give myself to you again.”

“What are you doing then?” Ian asked, but he didn’t recognize his voice. He tried again, “What  
are you doing?” Still not his. It was higher, more frantic, “Ian, what are you doing?” Mandy said  
smacking him hard so that he’d back off of her, “You’re humping my ass with that huge fucking  
shlong.”

Ian’s eyes shot open and he cried, “Oh fuck,” scrambling off of his friend. He could feel a sticky,  
wet spot on his underwear and he silently cursed his fucking life, “Mandy, I’m sorry.”

She rolled her eyes and peeled her black lace panties off tossing them on the floor, “Got it on me,”

She chided, rolling out of bed and going to her underwear drawer. She pulled on another pair of  
panties and tossed Ian his jeans.

“I’m really sorry,” He repeated and he was, “It’s not like you’ve never been cum on, right?” Ian  
said with a half-grin, trying to lighten the mood and abate his embarrassment. He took of his  
boxers and wiggled into his jeans, cringing at the discomfort of his dick rubbing against the thick  
fabric, “Do you squirt? You can squirt on me if you want so we can be even.”

Mandy laughed and slid back into bed wrapping her arms around Ian and resting her head on his  
chest, tired, “Gonna pee on your when we wake up,” She informed him with a yawn.

“Where?” Ian asked quietly, pushing her hair out of her face.

“On your feet,” She groaned, “Chicks can’t aim, you dumbass.”

Ian whispered another “I’m really sorry,” and then drifted off to sleep, willing himself not to  
dream of Mickey.

Ian was awakened a few hours later by Mandy shaking him gingerly, “Gotta make breakfast for  
Yev,” She said, rolling out of bed and gesturing for Ian to come with her. He stood up to follow  
and immediately cringed at the chaffing in his pants. He was way too well endowed to free ball it.

“Can you sneak into Mickey’s room and get me a pair of his boxers?” He asked attempting to  
adjust himself.

“So you can sniff them? That’s fucking creepy,” Mandy stated with a mischievous glint in her  
eyes.

“Fuck off, you know why,” Ian said with a laugh, “C’mon…”

“Oh, ‘cause you splooged all over yours AND my ass?” Mandy asked with a smirk, clearly  
planning to hold this over Ian’s head for the foreseeable future, “Toughen up, Buttercup.”

Ian grunted his annoyance as they made their way into the kitchen. Yevgeny wasn’t awake, but  
Mickey was. He was sitting at the kitchen table in the same wife beater and sweatpants that Ian  
had imagined peeling off the night before.

“Morning,” Ian said sitting down in the seat next to him. Mickey looked solemn as he took a sip of  
his coffee, and avoided laying eyes on Ian.

“I’m thinking pancakes, what d’you think?” Mandy asked her voice way too perky for the hour.

“Sounds good,” Ian agreed, looking over at Mickey once again, trying to draw his attention with  
no success. He had gone from partially inviting last night to completely closed off, not even  
glancing his way.

“So, Ian came all over my ass last night,” Mandy chirped as she poured the batter into the skillet.

“Mandy!” Ian cried, his face turning a deep shade of crimson, “Seriously?”

“What? It’s funny!” Mandy said innocently, shooting Ian a confused look.

“Congratulations. You’re now a part of a club with tons of members,” Mickey stated. There was  
no smirk, no lifting of his eyebrows, no indication that he was joking in any way.

“Ouch,” Ian whispered with a frown. Mickey didn’t respond.

“That was brutal,” Mandy reprimanded, shaking her head to show her disapproval, “If I knew you  
were in a salty fucking mood, I never would’ve fucking said it. He was probably dreaming about  
you, anyway.”

“Mandy!” Ian exclaimed again, sticking out his chin in annoyance.

“Shit, you got the chin, the bitch is real mad now,” Mickey said coolly, standing up and shoving  
his chair under the table so he could retreat back to his room, uninterested in spending any more  
time with the two of them.

“The fuck’s your problem?” Mandy called after him, glancing at Ian who looked like he’d been  
punched in the gut repeatedly and gave him an apologetic shrug, “I’m sorry, he seemed so much  
better last night. I thought we could.. you know, joke around or whatever.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m just gonna go,” Ian said standing up and wobbling a bit. He felt dizzy from  
Mickey’s anger towards him. He thought they were taking steps in the right direction, but clearly  
they weren’t. He gave Mandy a kiss on his cheek and walked over to the coat rack to put on his  
jacket.

Mandy looked at him with worried eyes, “You alright to walk home? Do you want me grab those  
boxers?” She offered.

“I’d rather my cock fall off,” Ian replied with a frown.

“Understood,” Mandy said with a nod, turning the burner down. She watched as Ian exited the  
house before stomping into Mickey’s room, “What was that?” She practically yelled, “You were  
so fucking nasty to him.”

“Do I gotta remind you what he’s done to me? You forget already?” Mickey asked taking a drag  
of the cigarette he was smoking.

“Svetlana’s gonna kill you,” Mandy warned.

Mickey gave her a glare that screamed, ‘I don’t give a fuck’ and gestured towards the open  
window, “Good enough.”

“You’ll tell her that then,” Mandy retorted, “You and Ian seemed to be getting along last night.  
You gonna blame it on the beer? Be a punkass pussy and deny that you just wanted to fuck  
around with him?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey groaned rubbing his eyebrows with his thumb and forefinger, “Really, fuck  
off.”

“You didn’t have to be so mean,” Mandy said, her voice softening, “I know he hurt you, but it’s  
shitty to send such mixed signals.”

“I know,” Mickey agreed, “I fucked up, ok? That’s why I’m being crystal fucking clear now.”

“So you don’t want anything to do with him?” Mandy asked skeptically, “Somehow I find that  
really hard to believe.”

“Well believe it,” Mickey stated through gritted teeth, “Ain’t fucking going there again.”

Mandy rolled her eyes, “Fine, whatever. But don’t be so nasty to him when he’s here, ignore him,  
push him away, I don’t give a shit, but don’t talk to him that way.”

“You gonna fuck off now?” Mickey asked waving towards the door.

“Fucking asshole,” Mandy muttered as she left the room.

As soon as she closed the door Mickey put his cigarette in an ashtray and rubbed both of his eyes  
angrily. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset with himself for falling back into old patterns of  
lashing out when he was hurt or at Ian for hurting him so badly in the first place. All he knew was  
that he was crying like a little bitch and he just wanted to be with the one person that he’d never  
allow himself to be with again.

Chapter Thirteen: Remorse

"You alright? You seem distracted," Zev asked giving Mickey a sidelong glance as he drove them  
to work.

"Fine," Mickey responded unemotionally, looking down at his phone. It's not that he really  
expected Ian to text him after the way he'd talked to him a couple of hours ago, but he was so used  
to getting his stupid, mushy texts that it was kinda weird not receiving one. He thought about the  
look of betrayal on Ian's face at the breakfast table and felt the acidic taste of bile climbing up his  
throat. Mickey knew it was a low blow, probably one of the hardest hits he could take at Ian. He'd  
skirted the line of insulting Ian's disorder and he fucking knew it. Ian was codependent at times  
and definitely needy, but his hypersexuality was a symptom more than a lifestyle. He never  
imagined that he'd be so patient and understanding with another person. It's not that it hadn't hurt  
when Ian was with other men while they were together, but it was more difficult to know that Ian  
was battling a beast that so often won. His desire to care for him was stronger than his own  
feelings, more powerful than any anger that had simmered inside of him. He'd hold Ian and cry  
with him wondering why this had happened to him, why his mind had turned on itself and forced  
him to suffer. He'd thought they'd struggled enough. He'd made it his mission to take care of him,  
sickness and health, thick and thin, because he loved him more than he hated the disorder, more  
than he'd ever thought possible.

"You do not look fine," Zev stated matter-of-factly, "I know you, my baby," he patted Mickey's  
cheek, not taking his eyes off the road, "You gonna tell me what is getting to you? Or do I need to  
use my Mossad techniques to get it out of you."

"I'd like to see you try," Mickey scoffed, knowing that he wouldn't talk so much shit to the very  
physically intimidating individual, if he didn't have him wrapped around his finger.

"You can't be distracted in the field today," Zev warned, "This is how people get hurt. You need  
to get it out. Pack it up in a little bag, light it on fire, and leave it on someone's doorstep."

"Holy fuck, you're weird," Mickey said shaking his head in disbelief, "You get weirder every day,  
I swear."

"You love me," Zev informed with a cheeky grin, "Tell me you love me. C'mon, I gotta hear it  
sometimes, too."

"Fuck off," Mickey laughed, glancing back down at his phone. Still nothing. He debated sending  
something to Ian, showing some remorse, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Tell me, Mikhailo. I need it," Zev teased, a broad smile spreading across his face, "Tell me how  
you feel."

"I love you, you dipshit," Mickey said without malice in his voice. He laughed when Zev made a  
big show of how pleased he was.

"Good, now tell me what ails you, baby. I'll make it better," Zev promised, "You tell me who I  
need to kill and they are gone."

"I can take care of myself," Mickey reminded him, always slightly irritated when Zev got so  
overbearing, "Been doing it for this long."

"No offense, but you have done a shit job. This is why I'm here now. Who?" He demanded.

"Um," he considered how to answer the question. The truth was, that the events of last night and  
earlier that morning were both on him. He couldn't pretend that he wasn't responsible for leading  
him on then lashing out at him for the decisions he'd made himself, "Honestly, probably me."

"I refuse to kill you. I love you too much. What'd you do?" He looked at Mickey and saw the  
reluctance to spill what happened all over his face, "Let's go. Give it to me. You fuck Ian  
Gallagher?"

"No," Mickey said with a sigh.

"I know this is only a matter of time, Mickey. I do. So you do not have to be ashamed. You like  
his carrot very much. I do not blame you. We all love what gives us pleasure," Zev assured him  
sympathetically, "But he is not good for you. We cannot forget this."

"His carrot? What the fuck?" Mickey rolled his eyes.

"I was playing off the fact that he had the orange hair," Zev said with a shrug, "I thought this was  
a very clever thing to say."

"Yeah, well, you thought wrong," Mickey groused, deciding that he wasn't in the mood for  
anymore of Zev's bullshit. He was fucking cranky. He wanted to get to work and take down some  
dumbass dime bag dealers.

"So...?"

"Fuck," Mickey groaned, rubbing his forehead to try to soothe his aggravation, "He was hanging  
out with Mandy last night, I was drunk and texted him some," he paused unsure of how to  
describe it, "I dunno, horny shit. Got pissed off at myself for doing it and said some fucked up shit  
to him this morning."

"How fucked up was the shit?" Zev questioned raising his eyebrow, "Like a little fucked up or  
apocalyptically fucked up?"

Mickey considered for a moment, "I'd say solidly in the 'blown up nuclear reactor' zone."

"Whoa, really?" Zev exclaimed, sounding partially surprised, but mostly excited, "I need to know.  
You know I love the juice. Gimme the juice."

"I said something about him jizzing on a ton of dude's asses and called him a bitch," Mickey  
admitted, thinking that it sounded more petty when he said it aloud. If someone didn't know about  
Ian's bipolar they'd think the statements were harsh, but they wouldn't be able to comprehend the  
true depth of them. Zev knew a the bare minimum about Ian's disorder, just what he let leak out on  
nights he was shedding his emotions, as well as his tears.

"So you slut shamed him?" Zev clarified, keeping his eyes on the highway.

Mickey shrugged, "I mean, I guess... I don't know. It was fucked up."

"Did he cheat on you? Spread his carrot juice on other tushies while he was with you?" Zev  
demanded, his hands clenching the steering wheel tightly. Mickey knew that look, the Israeli was  
growing irate.

"No, it wasn't like that," Mickey replied carefully, choosing to ignore the disturbing description of  
Ian's cum, "Just knew it would fuck with him, so I said it."

"I don't like him. Don't like what he did to you," Zev said simply, "But it is not right to try to hurt  
people. Do you think he ever tried to hurt you on purpose? If he did, I'll hate him even more. Be  
honest."

He knew the answer. Every time Ian had fucked him over he could see the pain in his eyes. He'd  
never excuse it, but he wouldn't twist it up and pretend that he had been malicious either, "No."

"This type of shit, it will poison you from the inside out way more than your own pain will," Zev  
explained, "Trust me on this."

Mickey just nodded thinking that the goofball made a lot of sense. He looked down at his blank  
home screen one more time before shoving his phone back into his pocket. They were on the  
streets today and he couldn't afford to let his mind wander too far from the task at hand, as difficult  
as he was finding it to be.

*

Mandy rapped gently on Ian's bedroom door, opening it slowly when she heard his familiar voice  
call, "Come in."

"I come bearing gifts," She said holding up a bag of weed and a plate of cookies, while giving  
him a guilty half-smile.

"Oh yeah, what's the occasion? Are we celebrating how I got my ass handed to me by the love of  
my life this morning?" Ian asked, laying back on his bed with a sigh.

"I mean, maybe a little, but mostly just an apology," She said placing the goods on his nightstand  
and laying down next to him, "I should've never told Mickey about jizzfest 2018. Honestly, I  
misread the situation and I should've never blurted it out like that, you've never done that shit to  
me. I totally fucked up."

"Stop," Ian directed, giving her a small grin, "I'm too tired to even give a shit," He assured her. He  
sighed, "My mind as been churning nonstop. Can't get control over it."

Mandy's face fell, "Do you feel..." she began her voice trailing off before she could finish the  
question.

"No," Ian promised, knowing what she was asking, "it's not like that. Just hard to know that the  
man you're in love with hates you and it's all your fucking fault because you can't make a good  
decision to save your life."

"Mickey crossed the line today," Mandy told him, pushing his hair back and raking her fingers  
through the red locks, "told him that."

"Oh yeah?" Ian asked with a light laugh, "How'd that go over?"

"Bout as well as you'd expect. Told me to fuck off," Mandy replied, rolling her eyes, "He was just  
trying to hurt you, Old School Mickey."

"It worked," Ian admitted.

"I'm sorry," Mandy said sincerely, "Wish I could take it all back."

"It's ok," Ian said softly.

"It's not," She disagreed, "But I brought weed and cookies so you kinda gotta forgive me." She  
grinned.

"Forgiven," Ian said giving her a small smile back.

*

It was midnight and Mickey was again staring at his home screen. A picture of his favorite beach  
in Mexico was the only item on the screen, filling him equally with hope and sadness. Fuck, he  
missed the warmth and comfort of Mexico. Things were so different in Chicago. His life had  
changed so much. He liked his job, but it had been a physically demanding day. He'd made his  
first two arrests which felt pretty awesome, aside from the fact that he empathized with the  
perpetrators way more than he should have. He'd been on the other side, sold dope to get by. He  
understood the game, but knew that in the long run a career with the DEA would allow him to set  
up a better life for his kid and for himself.

He wished that a text box would pop up and block out his view of the beach. Ian hadn't contacted  
him at all through the day, which was out of the ordinary. He knew what he needed to do, but his  
pride wasn't allowing it. He looked up at the bare ceiling, staring at the peeling white paint as if an  
answer to his problems was written there. His heart practically skipped a beat when he heard his  
phone buzz. He was disappointed to see that it was Iggy telling that he forgot his keys and asking  
him to leave the back door unlocked.

He knew he wouldn't sleep if he didn't just do it.

-Fucked up today. Shouldn't have said that shit to u. I'm sorry-

He was surprised when he didn't get a message back immediately. The unwelcome feeling of  
anxiety tightened his chest. He felt more guilty by the minute, wondering how badly he'd hurt Ian.  
Just as he was about to fall asleep, his phone buzzed. The response was short and colder than  
Mickey had grown used to over the past several weeks.  
-Thx-  
He debated ending it there, but he was desperate for more.  
-What were u thinking about?-  
-When?-  
-U know when-  
-That's really what ur gonna ask me right now? lol-  
-So?-  
-Thinking about u-  
-What was I doin?-  
-Riding me-  
-U liked it?-  
-Came all over myself didn't I?-  
-Heard it wasn't just urself-  
-(middle finger emoji)-  
-Never gonna live this down-  
-That implies ur gonna be talking to me in the futureMickey grinned a bit and rolled his eyes.  
-Sry again-  
-Future freaked u out?-  
-Nah. Not as much as it freaked u out-  
He felt sad as soon as he sent it, because it hit him too deep. He hadn't feared a future with Ian,  
he'd feared a future without him.  
-Not anymore. Know what I want-  
-Yeah?-  
-You-  
-Just wanted to apologize. Not trying to date ur ass-  
-I love you-  
-Stop-  
-I love you-  
-(Middle finger emoji) Stop-  
-Never gonna stop telling u that. Get used to it-  
-Fuck off-  
-Love u 2-  
-Didn't say I love u-  
-Didn't have to-  
-Cocky asshole forgets he's an asshole-  
-Thankfully ur here to remind me every single day-  
Mickey laughed and placed his phone on the charger. What a dick.

Chapter Fourteen: Liking What I Like

“Fuck, this shit is boring,” Mickey complained bringing his cigarette to his lips, inhaling, and  
trying to blow smoke rings. He clicked his tongue as he watched a perfect ‘O’ float through the  
air, “Got it.”

“Most of what we do is waiting. You know this. This is what we did in Mexico. Sit and wait.  
Watch and wait. Sit, watch, wait,” Zev reminded him, dramatically waving his hand in front of his  
face to show Mickey that he wasn’t impressed by his new skill, “You are killing yourself slowly.”

“Better than quickly,” Mickey replied, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows as if to say  
‘gotcha’ to his partner, "Right?”

“You’re too pretty to have such a smart mouth,” Zev tisked, taking a bite of his sandwich and  
holding it out to Mickey to offer him a taste.

Mickey shook his head and went back to his cigarette. “You love my smart mouth.”

“I do,” Zev confirmed, “I hate that I love it.”

Mickey just shrugged. He knew all about hating himself for loving. It seemed to be his default  
state. When he was a teenager, he hated himself for loving men’s bodies; how solid they were  
with their strong arms, broad shoulders, and the deep v-cut that sliced down their hips. He hated  
that while his brothers loved watching porn where a woman was getting fucked, he got off  
watching a guy take a cock instead. Cock, that was probably what he hated himself for loving the  
most. Like most adolescent boys, he’d jerked off like a fiend, always discovering new ways to  
please himself. His hand on his dick never felt like enough. He experimented with his fingers first,  
learning how to stretch himself by watching the men on his screen. He relished the feeling of  
being breached. Craving more, he moved onto dildos and butt plugs, savoring the sensation and  
becoming more comfortable. He hated that he never felt any of that when he was with a girl.  
When Ian Gallagher had the audacity to come into his room and demand he give back Kash’s  
gun, he hated that he rolled over, pulled down his pants, and loved every minute of having the  
freckle-faced little fucker’s real, flesh and blood cock throbbing in his ass.  
Ian fucking Gallagher, there was nothing he hated himself for loving more than him. He knew,  
even early on, that his life was never going to be easy, but loving Ian complicated things more  
than he could have ever imagined. He hated that it took him so long to be man enough to admit  
that he loved him, to not fear the consequences. More than anything he hated that despite what  
they had suffered through, he still did.

Mickey kicked the heel of his boot back against the brick parapet they were sitting on, “You know  
why this was better in Mexico? “

“Because everything’s better in Mexico?” Zev proposed with a grin.

Mickey smiled back, it was true. At least when they were staking shit out in Mexico the air was  
warm, palm trees were swaying and everything felt alive. Now, they were sitting on the corner of  
47th and State, freezing their asses off, so they could strong-arm a pimply kid they’d gotten word  
was running for the Latin Kings that afternoon. They needed him to give up some names in the  
second tier and the only way to get him singing was to put him on stage.

He pulled his phone out of his back pocket, earning him a look of disapproval from Zev, “Eyes  
peeled, Mikhailo, we can’t be distracted.”

“Fuck, man. You’re spending more time eye fucking your pastrami than I’m gonna take lookin’ at  
my phone,” Mickey groused. He gave Zev the finger and obstinately looked down at this phone  
screen.

“Is this what we are calling you now? My ‘Pastrami’? Because as usual the only thing I’m eye-fucking   
around here is you, big boy,” Zev said matter-of-factly.

“You call me that again and I’m gonna shoot your dick off,” Mickey stated, giving Zev the dirtiest  
look he could muster, “fucking creepy motherfucker.” He didn’t have any new messages, but he  
tapped onto Ian’s text string just to be sure. All he found were the three texts he’d received, and  
hadn’t responded to, earlier that morning.

-Thinking of u. Wanna take u out-  
-On a date-  
-Like to Sizzler or something-

Mickey chuckled again at how fucking dumb it was for him to clarify.

“You’re giggling like you’re giddy,” Zev informed him, causing Mickey to drop his head and rub  
his brow, as if he was trying to relieve mental tension.

“You’re annoying like you’re annoying,” Mickey shot back, picking up his head just in time to  
see two EMTs walking across the street towards their corner, laughing and immersed in  
conversation. He hated that the irritation and aggravation he’d felt seconds before seemed to melt  
away as he watched Ian gesticulating wildly through his story. He’d grown so used to seeing a  
relatively somber version of his ex-boyfriend that he forgot what it looked like when he was  
lighter, more carefree. He was internally debating how he should handle the unexpected run-in  
when Ian’s eyes locked into his. He heart dropped when he saw the smile fall from Ian’s face,  
replaced by that nervous, desperate look he now had whenever he was around him.

“He’s more pale than you in the sunlight, I never thought this would be possible,” Zev whispered  
way too obviously.

Mickey gritted his teeth, having had enough of Zev for the day and told him to “Shut the fuck up”  
in a hushed but harsh tone.

“Hey Mick,” Ian greeted, approaching the two men who were whisper arguing on the retaining  
wall like an old married couple. Ian nodded his ‘hello’ to Zev and trained his eyes back on  
Mickey, “Are you…” he began, but was cut-off by Mickey.

“Doin’ shit we can’t talk about? Yeah,” He gnawed on the inside of his cheek, hoping that his  
face reflected that he was somewhat alright with seeing him. In all honesty, he fucking enjoyed  
checking Ian out in his uniform. It did shit to him. Images of the first time he saw him in his garb  
flashed in his mind. He was covered in dirt, panting, and looking at him with such fucking awe  
that it took his breath away. That look had convinced him that Ian had never fallen out of love  
with him. That even though things had gone bad, what they'd built withstood the storm of shit.

Now, he knew that you couldn't put too much stock in words or looks, because the only things  
that fucking mattered were actions.

“Ralph and I were just heading to lunch,” Ian said, eyes focused on Mickey's full lips, "Do you  
get a lunch break or....?"

Zev held up his sandwich to indicate that this was it and Mickey did the same with his cigarette.

"Gallagher's been smoking his lunch lately, too. Stressed out over some guy that won't give him  
the time of day," Ralph stated, earning him a look that screamed 'shut the fuck up' from Ian,  
whose cheeks had instantly flushed pink.

Mickey lifted his eyebrows, well aware that this tiny, punk-ass EMT knew exactly who he was.

"That right?" He asked sardonically, licking his lips and looking directly into his dark brown eyes,  
"Sounds like a dick. He tell you that he's a dick?"

Any cockiness Ralph may have possessed dissipated under Mickey's ice-cold gaze. He  
instinctively took a step back as Mickey brought his cigarette back up to his lips. Zev tried to hold  
back his laughter, finding immense enjoyment in watching Mickey posture.

"Get my texts?" Ian asked, tucking his hands into his pockets and shifting uncomfortably from one  
leg to the other.

"Mmmhmm," Mickey hummed still eyeing down Ralph, "You complainin' about me to this guy?"

"You already know the answer to that," Ian replied, looking down at his boots and then back up at  
Mickey. He waited until Mickey focused on him and repeated, "You already know."

Mickey flicked the ash off his cigarette, his face blank.

"We gotta go," Ralph said tapping Ian's elbow.

Ian gave Mickey one glance, "Think about dinner, ok?" He urged.

Mickey nodded and watched as the two men walked away.

"Were those the texts you were giggling at?" Zev pried, taking a hulking bite out of his sandwich.

"Wasn't giggling," Mickey protested.

"He wants to go to dinner? You thinking about going?"

Mickey shrugged, "Not sure."

"Do you want to?" Zev asked as he loudly chewed his food.

"Holy shit, man. You're driving me fucking nuts today," Mickey groaned, closing his eyes, "Let's  
just sit here quietly. No talking. Just watching."

"Have it your way," Zev said nonplused, "but you know you have to give me that juice later."

"Shhhh!!!" Mickey hissed.

They sat there wordlessly as Zev started crunching loudly on potato chips. After the third time he  
shoved the bag in Mickey's face to offer him some salty goodness, Mickey grabbed the bag and  
tossed it behind them.

"Oh now you've done it," Zev growled angrily, stepping over the wall and retrieving his chips, "I  
am not going to sit with you anymore." He moved as far as he could possibly get from Mickey  
while still remaining in the same general vicinity.

Mickey smiled to himself, thinking that the solitude was a small win.

A half an hour passed and Zev was still pouting at the other end of the wall, while Mickey was  
enjoying the silence. His peace was once again interrupted by a familiar voice calling out, "Hey."

He turned his head to watch Ian approach, glad to see that his douchbag coworker was hanging  
back, "Got you some lunch."

Mickey took the white plastic bag Ian held out towards him and looked inside: BBQ Pringles, a  
Snickers bar and blue Gatorade, "Not very healthy, Gallagher," He said with a smirk, his eyes  
gleaming a bit from the gesture.

"Yeah, well I'll do better for dinner if you let me take you," Ian replied grinning at him.

"When?" Mickey asked tentatively, ripping the wrapper on the Snickers and taking a bite.

"Whenever. Tonight?" He was trying not to seem to eager but failing miserably.

"Sizzlers?" Mickey questioned, as if Ian's answer was going to to impact his own.

"Owe you that steak," Ian said with a shrug, "3 years late, but let me take you."

He bit his lower lip, "Alright, I'll go, but don't think I'm puttin' out."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Ian replied with a goofy grin, clearly over the moon that Mickey agreed  
to go with him.

"I mean, you have, haven't you?" Mickey teased, flicking the side of his nose with his knuckle  
and raising his eyebrows.

"Fuck you," Ian laughed, shaking his head. He was going to make Mandy bring him more weed  
and cookies. She definitely still owed him. "Tonight?"

"Fine," Mickey agreed, "but I'm only going because you're buyin' and this Snickers ain't cutting  
it."

"Got it," He confirmed, attempting not to jump out of his skin with excitement, "7 work? I'll come  
by."

"Yeah, whatever," Mickey replied nonchalantly.

Ian smiled at him and turned to leave.

"I'm serious, Gallagher, just dinner," Mickey called after him, his reminder falling on deaf ears as  
Ian was too busy plotting how he was going to get another kiss out of him to pay any attention.

Chapter Fifteen: Moo

“You sure you don’t wanna wear with the red one?” Lip asked with a smirk, earning him an  
incredibly annoyed look from Ian. He was anxious as hell about his date and had tried on six  
different outfits before settling on a pale green collared shirt and dark jeans.

“Fuck off,” He shot, before looking at his reflection in the mirror again and sighing, “Seriously; do  
you think the red one looked better?”

Lip laughed at his brother’s nerves, “Calm down, man. It’s Mickey,” he reminded him, taking a  
drag of his joint.

“Yeah, it’s Mickey, so it’s a big fucking deal,” He pulled on a grey blazer, “We’ve never been out  
on a date.”

“Excuse me?” Lip asked incredulously sitting up on his bed, “You fucking with me?”

“Nope. Never,” Ian confirmed, tying his shoes. He stood up, took a deep inhale, and held his  
hands out for Lip to give him his assessment, “So?”

“You look good,” He said with a nod of approval, “You gonna be alright? You’re pretty hyped  
up.”

“I’m fine,” Ian assured him, grabbing the joint from his fingers and taking a quick hit, “fine.” He  
wasn’t sure if he was, but he was going to try to be. He wanted everything to go well. The last  
several times they’d been around each other, things had seemed better, until they weren’t. He  
didn’t want to say or do the wrong thing. This was the first night of the rest of his life, the life he  
was supposed to be living, his life with Mickey, “Wish me luck.”

Lip saluted him and watched as he left the room, hoping with every fiber of his being that it went  
well. He’d witnessed his brother suffer over the last year and as much as he didn’t want to admit  
it, Mickey was the only man he’d ever been with that was consistent and selfless enough in his  
love for Ian to be a good long-term option. It wasn’t lost on him that Ian would need some  
semblance of care in his future and it had to be from somebody strong enough to handle him. He  
needed someone who could recognize if he was swinging high or dropping low, someone to urge  
him to get his medication adjusted, that would listen when he got into obsessive rants, or hold him  
back the best they could from compulsive behaviors. He knew that Mickey had always tried to be  
that person for Ian, which was more than he could say for anyone else. The thought compelled  
him to jump of his bed and call down to his brother from the top of the stairs, “Really, Ian, I hope  
it goes well.”

Ian, all wrapped up in his outerwear, ready to face the cold, gave him a half smile and a wave  
before exiting the house. Clouds cloaked the moon and stars, leaving flickering streetlamps in  
desperate need of repair, to shoddily light the block. He shoved his gloved hands deeper into his  
coat pocket and tucked his chin down into his scarf, as he picked up his pace. He knew he  
couldn’t blame his brisk pace on the frigid air, he was used to that. He was practically running  
because he couldn’t fucking wait to see the excitement in Mickey’s eyes when he saw a huge, rare  
steak on his plate. He had fantasized about this night so many times over the years that it was hard  
to believe it was actually happening. The thick snowflakes falling wetly on his cheeks assured him  
that he was awake and though it felt like a dream, it wasn’t.

As he approached the Milkovich house, he was surprised to find Mickey leaning against the front  
gate smoking a cigarette, “It’s cold as balls. Why’re you outside?”

Mickey held up the cigarette as an explanation, “Cold as balls is a stupid phrase,” he stated,  
beginning to walk towards the El. Ian followed, keeping pace with him, “I mean, balls are warm,  
all tucked up in skin, fabric and shit.”

“Mine are icy and blue,” Ian informed him with a grin.

“Sounds like a personal problem, Gallagher,” Mickey stated, raising an eyebrow and trying to  
hold back the smile that was threating to pull up his lips, “Nothing I’m worried about, that’s for  
sure.”

“Not at all?” Ian pushed, wriggling up his nose.

“Nope. Not at all,” Mickey confirmed, “I’m just here for the meat.”

Ian caught the smirk that appeared on Mickey’s face and laughed, “Oh c’mon, you’re totally  
flirting with me.” He grabbed Mickey’s cigarette and placed it between his own lips, taking a drag  
as Mickey looked at him quizzically.

“Speakin’ of balls, looks like someone’s got his back. Sick of you slinkin’ around with your  
nervous ninny shit,” Mickey chided, “It’s fucking weird.”

“Everything’s weird,” Ian corrected, and it was, but walking down a dark South Side street on a  
frosty February evening, joking around and sharing a cigarette with Mickey felt anything but  
strange. Mickey nodded his agreement and they walked in silence, lost in their own thoughts, the  
rest of the way to the El.

“Know what the weather’s like in Mexico right now?” Mickey asked as he slid into the seat next  
to Ian and pulled off his gloves.

“Um, 82 degrees with winds coming from the southwest at 8 miles per hour,” He replied  
nonchalantly, shrugging when Mickey narrowed his eyes, “Got so used to checking it that I still  
do.”

“Hmm,” Mickey hummed, surprised by the revelation. He hadn’t thought that Ian paid him much  
mind when he was away. After he was locked up, Ian had gone on with his life in a way that felt  
reminiscent of ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ It was easy now that he was back, to say he had pined  
for him, but bits and bobs of information that Ian let slide showed that it may actually have been  
true.

"You liked it, huh?" Ian asked remembering how enamored Mickey had seemed the last time he'd  
mentioned the country, "What's it like?"

"Shit," He looked up as if he was recalling images, feelings, and memories, "Paradise, man. Spent  
most my time layin' on the beach drinking beer, would just stare up at the sky and wonder how it  
was possible to not even have a cloud in it, when that's what we got here most the time. You  
don't..." He paused and shook his head, changing direction, "There's something about the sound  
of the ocean. We lived in this little shack right by the beach, listened to it every night when I was  
goin' to sleep. Never slept better."

"I've never been to the beach," Ian said wistfully, trying unsuccessfully, like he had so many times  
before, to picture Mickey laying in the sand, enjoying the sun, "Were there sharks and crabs? Any  
of that stuff?"

"Not that I saw," Mickey laughed, squinting his eyes a bit, "That's what you wanna know about?"

"I wanna know everything, that's just what came to my mind first," Ian replied, grinning. He loved  
it when Mickey smiled. He loved it even more when he smiled at him, "Think I'd like it there?"  
That beautiful lightness that had illuminated his face in his laughter drained as he quietly replied,

"Yeah, You'd love it."

Instinctively, Ian rested his hand on Mickey's knee and got a look of warning that was reminiscent  
of so many deterrents he had received from him when he was too trapped in the dark closet to see  
what was right in front of him. He reluctantly slid his hand off, "Tell me about the work you did  
there.." he prompted.

Mickey spent the rest of the train ride describing the drug ring, his assignment, and everything that  
went along with it. He spoke about it all with authority and a passion in his voice before that Ian  
hadn't heard before.

"Sounds like you like it," Ian said as they disembarked, "working for them."

"I guess so. Took some gettin' used to. Didn't like the whole idea of bein' a narc, but these guys,  
the ones we got, man, they were some bad motherfuckers. Made it easier to do it to 'em, y'know,  
how fucked up they were," Mickey said with a shrug, as they approached Sizzler. He pulled open  
the door and looked back at Ian, "You comin' or..."

"I'm really fucking proud of you, Mick," He told him, his face reflecting the regard.

"That I opened the door?" Mickey deflected, a flush tinting his cheeks.

"You know what I mean," Ian stated following him to the hostess stand

"This ain't high school graduation. You don't gotta make a speech."

"I said two words," Ian retorted.

"Was more than two."

"If it was high school graduation neither of us would've been there," Ian reminded him, smiling at  
the hostess as she approached.

"Both got our GEDs, Good Enough Dickheads," Mickey said, raising his eyebrows with a smirk  
on his face.

Ian bust out laughing as the young, blonde girl looked at them wide-eyed, "Two?"

They nodded, still chuckling as she led them to their table.

"Get whatever you want," Ian directed, glancing over the menu.

"Was gonna," Mickey assured him, clicking his tongue, "going to get fattest-ass steak they got.  
Eat so much that I'm gonna have to unbutton my pants."

"Sounds kinda promising for me," Ian said giving him a goofy grin.

"Fucking corny," Mickey chided, trying to hide his smile behind his menu, but Ian could still see it  
in his eyes.

They ordered their meals and Ian laughed when Mickey told the waitress that he wanted his steak,  
"so rare that it screams when I bite it." He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy,  
laughed with abandon, felt so much. There were so many things that he loved about Mickey, but  
his sense of humor was definitely close to the top of the list.

As they ate, Ian attempted to make light conversation, while Mickey gruffly told him to "shut up"  
so he could enjoy his steak in peace. There was something so comforting about the fact that  
Mickey didn't want to talk during dinner. He had never really liked to and he wasn't putting on  
pretenses. It felt normal and natural in a way they hadn't been in a long time.

The snow had begun to fall heavier while they were at dinner and by the time they left the  
restaurant it was sticking to the asphalt, accumulating rapidly.

"This shit right here," Mickey said waving his arms around knocking away snowflakes, "some  
people don't ever gotta deal with it. Don't gotta shovel, walk around with their socks getting all  
cold and wet, freeze their ears off. I'm gonna be one of them."

Ian couldn't help but notice how insanely blue Mickey's eyes looked even on the dimly lit street.  
Realizing he was being stared at, Mickey turned his head to give Ian a puzzled look and before  
either of them knew what was happening, Mickey's back was being pushed against the storefront.  
The kiss was ravenous from the start, the hunger of their want consuming them both. Lips and  
tongues sought the other man greedily as their hands went from cheeks to hair and back again.

"Fuck, I love you," Ian whispered against full lips, his words instantly hushed by Mickey's teeth  
pulling his bottom lip out and tongue sliding back into his mouth. They kissed vehemently until  
their toes began to feel like ice cubes in their boots.

Their walk to to El and ride home were filled with stolen glances and kisses, their lips becoming  
magnets; once attached, almost impossible to pull apart.

"Can I come in?" Ian asked as he kissed Mickey ardently on the porch of the Milkovich house, his  
hands traveling down to his ass and giving the perfect bubble butt a tight squeeze.

"Not going there," Mickey said, a soft moan escaping his mouth as Ian loosened his scarf and  
ghosted his warm breath over the cool skin, "Can't go there."

Ian started to lick and suck the spot on Mickey's neck that drove him fucking crazy while grinding  
his erection against Mickey's stomach.

"Alright, alright," Mickey panted stepping back, knowing that if he didn't get away from him he'd  
do something that he'd regret. He couldn't fuck Ian, because if he did, he wouldn't stop fucking

Ian and fucking Ian would fuck up his mind. He knew he couldn't go there, "Thanks for dinner."  
Ian let out an stuttering sigh and looked at Mickey with fire behind his eyes.

"Thanks," Mickey repeated, giving Ian a conciliatory pat on the cheek before ducking into the  
house. He leaned his back against the door, summoning every ounce of his self-control he had to  
stop himself from going back on the porch and calling out for the idiot to come back. Fuck.

Chapter Sixteen: Hoping and Dreaming

It had been so long since Ian had woken up happy and everything was different; his body was  
thrumming with excitement, his heart full of hope instead of the miserable ache it had grown so  
accustomed to. He brought his fingertips up to his well-kissed lips, allowing them to rest on the  
tingling skin, his mind reminiscing on all of the kisses he’d shared with Mickey the night before;  
kiss after kiss after kiss, each one more intense and loving than the one that preceded it. Mickey  
grabbing him, pulling him closer, grasping into his hair, while reacquainting with his mouth had  
charged him full of an energy that he’d thought he’d never be able to get back. With every  
movement of their lips, every swirl of their tongues, the way they had melted together, his  
emptiness had begun to dissolve. Mickey had kissed his numbness away; made him feel again,  
revived him.

He reached his arms behind his head and let out a contented groan as his spine lengthened and  
stretched. Maybe he’d go for a run before work. Pulling himself up to a seated position, he moved  
the drapes that were hung haphazardly over the window so he could check the weather. The snow  
that had fallen last night was nothing more than dirty lumps pushed to the side of the street by  
plows. The sun was shining and the sky was clear. It was incredible that everything seemed so  
much brighter and more deeply pigmented than it had the day before. He hadn’t realized how grey  
things were until he saw the blue of Mickey’s eyes again.

He was definitely going to run and he knew exactly where he was headed. He got dressed as  
quickly as he could and practically bounced down the stairs into the kitchen, “Good morning,  
beautiful family!” He greeted, smiling widely at Fiona, Lip and Liam.

“Guess your date went well last night?” Lip smirked, watching as Ian grabbed a banana and took  
a bite. The redhead lifted an eyebrow and tilted his head.

“You had a date?” Fiona asked, gasping excitedly, the surprise evident on her face. She rubbed  
Ian’s back warmly, “I’m so glad! With who? Where’d you go? Spill it.”

“With Mick,” Ian replied his mouth full, “We went to Sizzler and it was fucking amazing.”

“So, your date was with Mickey,” Fiona stated, as if English had become a foreign language to  
her. She shot an anxious glance at Lip and then looked at Ian, “You two back together?”

“Saw that,” Ian said referencing her display of concern, “Bipolar doesn’t make me blind,” he  
reminded her, “or stupid.” He hated the way Fiona treated and looked at him ever since his  
diagnosis. She could never hide the pity, worry or fear in her eyes.

“I’m just…” She sighed, “I don’t want you to get too wrapped up in Mickey.”

He turned to Lip as if Fiona hadn’t just spoken. “There’s this, like, really annoying chirping noise  
in here. Do you hear it?”

Lip held back his laugh, but the smirk was evident on his lips.

“Really, Ian?” Fiona groused, rolling her eyes.

“Anyway,” He said tossing his banana peel into the garbage can, “What do I need bring to register  
for a college class?”

“You’re taking a class?” Fiona asked, but her question went unanswered as Ian continued to look  
expectantly towards his brother.

“Um, you gotta bring an ID and a credit card, check, any kinda money,” Lip replied, taking a bite  
of his toast, “What class are you gonna take?”

“Not sure yet,” Ian lied, “just thinking about it.” Lip gave his brother a knowing glance, able to  
read him like his favorite book and dropped the subject. He’d tell him when he was ready. He  
always did. While most of their family unabashedly aired their dirty laundry, Ian was different.  
Growing up gay on the South Side had made him more guarded, more tentative to share. Though  
he had been cautious before his diagnosis, Ian’s discretion increased exponentially after. Lip knew  
he didn’t want all of his decisions scrutinized and second-guessed in the way that Fiona had the  
habit of doing. He’d remind them that he was a man, not a child, even though somewhere deep  
inside, he knew that sometimes he couldn’t trust himself. “I’ll see you later.”

Lip nodded his goodbye, but Fiona followed him to the front door, “You gonna ignore me?” She  
pushed, hands on her hips, “Is it such a crime to worry about you? Seriously? Is it?”

“You just…” He paused and shook his head, pulling on his windbreaker and grabbing his  
backpack from the hook, “you don’t get it, Fi. Don’t think you ever will.”

“Well then explain it to me,” She implored, “explain it to me.”

“I have, you don’t listen,” He tsked.

“Try again,” She urged, “tell me what it is about Mickey, Ian,” her voice was raising rapidly to a  
yell, “tell me what it is about him that makes you think it’s a good fucking idea to get in a stolen  
car with a fucking felon and drive across the country? Tell me what it is about him that makes you  
think about leaving everything you’ve worked for behind so you can go fiesta with him in fucking  
Mexico? Tell me what it is about him that compels you to risk your mental health? Tell me. I need  
to know. Please. Help me understand.”

Ian felt an immense amount of anger flood his body and course through his veins. It was bubbling  
and scalding just under his skin, ready to boil over if he gave it the opportunity. Instead he  
clenched his jaw tight and jutted out his chin, fighting to contain it.

Quite aware that Ian was teetering on the edge of an explosion and seeing red herself, she pressed,  
“Tell me. Tell me what it is!”

“It’s called love, Fiona. It’s this thing that grows between two people over time when you’re  
fucking selfless enough to let it. It’s not getting married to some random bassist, guitarist or  
whatever the fuck he was after knowing him for like a week and then cheating on him with two  
other guys, one of which is your heroin addicted boss that you decide you’re gonna fucking  
marry, too! It’s not Kyle, Grant or Sam or whoever the fuck you’re waking up to nowadays. It’s  
fucking love and I hope one day you can feel it.”

With that he was gone, slamming the door behind him and leaping down the porch steps,  
committed to not letting anyone fuck up his good mood. He began to run, relishing in the feeling  
of cold breeze lapping against his skin. The air was so fresh and crisp that he didn’t mind how  
chilly it was. This was the perfect day. He arrived at Malcom X in record time, unaware of just  
how quick his pace had been. Pulling his phone out of his pocket he fired off a text to Mickey.  
-Can’t stop thinking about u-

He walked into the building marked ‘Admissions’ and perused a course guide that was sitting on a  
table along with the instructions for enrolling. Once he found the class he was looking for he filled  
out the registration form and approached the counter.

“New student?” The middle-aged woman asked taking the paper out of his hand. Ian nodded,

“Alright, I just need your identification.”

He pulled his driver’s license out of his wallet and handed it to her. As she typed his information  
into the computer, he glanced down at his phone. He laughed lightly at Mickey’s reply:

-Try harder then?-

Asshole. Regardless of the response, he was just glad Mickey actually sent something back.

-u thinking about me?- Ian typed.  
-Not really-  
-Fuck u-  
-U wish-  
-ur right.. when?-

He groaned when his question was met by a blank screen. The woman lifted her eyebrows  
curiously, then went back to typing, “Got you all signed up. You’re aware that your first class is  
tomorrow night, correct?”

“Uh, yeah,” He nodded, “Do I need to bring anything?”

“You have to get the book and its workbook, hun.” She ripped a Post-it note off the stack in front  
of her and wrote down the name of the books he needed to purchase, “You can get them at the  
campus bookstore. Now, you just give me $340 and you’re good to go.”

Ian reached into his wallet for his credit card and handed it over to her, “Are the books  
expensive?”

“Exorbitantly,” She confirmed.

He’d have to pick up a few extra shifts to pay for everything. There was always the cash that he’d  
given Mickey, but there was no way he was going to bring that up unless Mickey mentioned it  
first. As far as he was concerned, Mickey could hold onto it until they used it to start over  
together, their fresh start. If everything went the way he hoped it would, the day they made it there  
would be the first day of his life.

“Here you go,” She said giving him back his card, “You’re all set for tomorrow, Mr. Gallagher.”

“Thanks,” He replied with a grin, tossing his wallet back into his backpack and heading towards  
the book store. He pulled his phone back out and huffed when there still wasn’t a reply from  
Mickey.

-Can I cum over and make out with u tonight?-  
-I see what u did there ur dumb-  
-Can I?-  
-No-  
-just kissing, I promise-  
-point of that?-  
-u loved it last night-  
-(middle finger emoji)-  
-didn’t u?-  
-(middle finger emoji)  
-I’ll take u to Sizzler again-  
-Fuck u. Not a steak slut-  
-fooled me-  
-(middle finger emoji)-  
-so am I coming over or are we going 2 dinner?-  
-no & no already got plans-  
-with who?-  
-(middle finger emoji)-  
-a date?-  
-(middle finger emoji)-  
-ARE U GOING ON A DATE?-

No response.

All of a sudden, Ian’s good mood was no more. His happiness was replaced with anxiety. The  
idea of Mickey going out on a date with another man, after what they’d shared the night before  
made his stomach turn. He reached his fingertips to his lips, no longer feeling the delicious  
sensation he had experienced an hour ago. His memories of kissing Mickey seemed far away, like  
it was a dream that he’d woken up from and now he was returning to his perpetual nightmare. He  
was able to identify his emotions as somewhere between furious and fearful; the horrible pain of  
jealousy. Maybe he’d been naïve to think that last night meant something more to Mickey; meant  
that he had been craving their connection as much as Ian had, that he was dying to see him the  
way that he was, meant that they were getting back together. A barrage of horrible thoughts  
invaded his mind, causing him to rub his forehead, trying to wipe them away, but they remained  
getting louder and more disparaging by the moment.

He started walking back towards his house so he could change and get ready for work. As he  
walked, he obsessively checked his phone to see if Mickey had responded, sighing with  
frustration each time when he found that his message was the last in the string. He opened his  
conversation with Mandy and sent her a text.

-hang 2night?-  
-Sure. Go out or just chill-  
-Ur house-  
-Cool. 8?-  
-Yes. C U then-  
-Bring me dinner-  
-What do u want?-  
-Anything you’re bringing-

Ian smiled and shoved his phone back into his backpack, willing himself not to check for  
messages from Mickey for the next five minutes. It took two before he was looking again,  
disappointed to find nothing.

Chapter Seventeen: Blue

Mickey was in the bathroom slicking his hair back when he heard the front door open. “Be out in  
a minute,” He called just quiet enough not to wake Yevgeny. He buttoned up his blue collared  
shirt and tucked it into his dark jeans before heading into the living room, not expecting to catch  
sight of Ian emptying Shake Shack bags on the kitchen island. “Unreal,” he muttered with a wry  
laugh.

“What?” Ian questioned innocently, turning over his shoulder to look at him, “Brought dinner for  
my best friend. Didn’t think you’d be here, said you had plans.” He focused his attention on  
unwrapping the hamburgers and placing them on the plates he’d gotten out, while Mickey walked  
around the island and grabbed a French fry.

“I do,” Mickey confirmed, popping it in his mouth and then going for another one. “Leaving  
soon.”

Ian shrugged as if he was uninterested, glancing up at Mickey who was looking back at him with  
suspicious eyes, “What?”

“You’re such a shit, you know that?” He said, unable to hide the amusement on his face as he  
watched the redhead feign indifference. Though it was quite clear it was an act, it was strange to  
be around Ian without him fawning all over him like he had been since he’d gotten back.

“Badass, you brought food,” Iggy praised as he entered the kitchen, stealing one of the burgers,  
much to Ian’s chagrin. He took a bite and chomped loudly as Mickey and Ian stood looking at  
each other in a silent face-off. Able to feel the awkwardness between them, Iggy snatched a  
handful of fries and skedaddled out the room.

“Not going on a date, y’know,” Mickey stated, scratching the skin just above his lip, before  
sniffing, and rubbing his knuckle against the side of his nose.

“None of my business if you were, right?” Ian said, his tone revealing more sadness than  
detachment.

They were quiet again, both not knowing what else to say, almost relieved when Mandy bounded  
into the room clapping excitedly, “Mmm. Looks so good!” she exclaimed, “I’m fucking starving.”  
She kissed Ian’s cheek before digging in.

“I guess I should probably…” Mickey’s voice trailed off as he headed over to the coat rack to put  
his jacket on. As he wrapped a scarf around his neck he watched Mandy gesticulate through a  
story about her shift and Ian laugh in response. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or punch  
him in his stupidly beautiful face. He knew it wasn’t Ian’s fault that he’d felt the need to justify  
where he was going, that was all him and he was aggravated as hell at himself. He didn’t owe him  
anything, and yet, he wanted him to know.

“Have fun,” Mandy called to him as he opened the door to leave.

He muttered, “thanks,” and his eyes drifted to Ian whose lips were pursed as he nodded his  
goodbye.

Zev had offered to pick him up but he’d refused since the bar they were going to was right by his  
apartment on the North Side. As he walked to the El, he kept thinking of Ian’s phony insouciance  
and how much it had bothered him. He was all too used to being on the giving side of their power  
dynamic and it had been a nice departure to take, rather than dole it out. He didn’t want to spend  
his life chasing after Ian, while he ran away. Still, he couldn’t deny the compulsion he felt to  
connect with him, even when he fucking hated himself for it. In a perfect world, he could trust Ian  
as much as he loved him, but the world wasn’t perfect and Ian had proven time and time again that  
he couldn’t trust him with his heart. Fuck if he didn’t wish he could.

He tried to distract himself from what he felt driven to do by swiping through Grindr, thinking up  
stories about his fellow passengers, and staring aimlessly out the window at the city blurring  
below him. After a pitifully short span of resistance, he typed a text to Ian:

-Why r u always wearing green?-

He couldn’t get the visual of Ian, in that hunter green Henley he’d shown up in, out of his head. It  
was just tight enough that he could see his biceps under the cloth and the narrowing of his waist. It  
took only a few seconds until he had a reply.

-cuz u like it-  
-wish you’d stop-  
-2 bad. Aren’t u on a date?-  
-told u not a date-  
-when r u gonna cum home?-  
-(middle finger emoji)-  
-just wanna c u-  
-u just saw me. When r u leaving? That’s when I’ll be home-  
-Sleeping over (winky face)-  
-Guess I’m sleeping out 2 then-

He saw the text bubble appear, indicating that Ian was typing and then watched it disappear again.  
It happened a few more times until it vanished for good. He stared at the screen for the rest of his  
ride, willing it to come back, disappointed when it didn’t. Trying not to think about Ian, his phone,  
or that goddamn green shirt, Mickey disembarked and made his way to the Tap House. Zev was  
waiting for him in a booth, but jumped up to give him one of his infamous bear hugs as soon as he  
approached.

“Enough,” Mickey groused as Zev snuggled his face into the top of his hair, “I put fucking gel in,  
you’re fucking it up.”

“You on the prowl tonight?” Zev asked reluctantly disentangling himself from Mickey, “Gonna  
find yourself a sweet piece of man meat.”

“Um, don’t ever fucking say that again,” Mickey warned rolling his eyes and sliding into the  
booth, “and no.”

“You fucked more in Mexico,” Zev tisked, “all the fucking you did made you much cheerier.  
Much nicer to be around.” He slid the Coronas he’d ordered to Mickey, “So we’ll pretend.”

“Don’t think anybody ever called me cheery before,” Mickey mused, clinking his beer bottle  
against the one that Zev was holding out expectantly towards him. He used to complain about the  
cheers-ing, hugging, spanking, and whatever other weird shit Zev was into, but then he stopped  
because the loveable motherfucker was stubborn as hell, “and how do you know how much  
fucking I’m doing?”

“I can tell. You’re my man. I know when you’re not being pleased. Is Ian Gallagher still trying to  
please you?” Zev asked, raising his eyebrows inquisitively, “He is very obsessed with you. If I  
wasn’t so angry at him, I would think it was cute.”

“It’s not cute. It’s the opposite of cute,” Mickey disagreed, pulling his phone out of his pocket so  
that he could check it again. Still no message from Ian.

“What’s the opposite of cute?” Zev wondered aloud.

“Uncute” Mickey replied giving him his signature ‘what the fuck face.’

Zev cleared his throat and took a swig of his beer, “You’re drinking too slowly.”

“Trying to get me drunk?” Mickey questioned, downing a good amount of his beer and letting out  
a deep belch.

“Nah, I just want to talk to you about something.” He signaled for the waitress and ordered two  
more for both of them.

“And I have to be drunk to talk to you about this?” Mickey asked skeptically, “This should go  
well.”

As soon as the beers arrived, Zev downed half of the fresh bottle and looked at Mickey  
anticipatorily. Mickey took a few gulps and waved his arm to indicate that Zev should proceed.

“You know I love you. You’re my baby…” Zev began.

“Asshole, you can’t break up with me, we’re not in a relationship,” Mickey reminded him,  
drinking more quickly. The idiot was right, he needed to be drunk for this.

“We are. We are the best of friends and I would never break up with you. It’s just that,” He  
cleared his throat again, “I think I may have affection for another Milkovich.”

“Oh,” Mickey asked, raising his eyebrows entertained, “My sister, ex-wife, brother or kid?”

“Sick fuck,” Zev laughed, “Mandy. She is so beautiful. She looks just like you but she has these  
wonderful tits and a vagina. She’s perfect.”

“How do you know she has a vagina? You see it?” Mickey regretted the question as soon as it  
came out of his mouth, deciding that he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“No,” Zev shook his head, “I am an honorable man. I would never fuck your sister in her vagina  
until I asked for your permission first.”

“Would you fuck her face without my permission?” Mickey questioned, suddenly interested  
where the line was.

“You know what I mean,” Zev scoffed, “I like her. I do not just want her vagina. I want her mind,  
too.”

“Think you’re better off sticking with the pussy,” Mickey replied finishing off his second beer and  
moving onto the third.

“I’m asking if I have your permission to pursue a relationship with Mandy,” Zev said, his face  
growing serious, “I love you. I like her. I don’t want to go against your wishes.”

“I don’t give a fuck. That’d be up to her,” Mickey said with a shrug. Honestly, he did give a fuck.  
Mandy had dated assholes for as long as she’d been dating. The only boyfriend she ever had that  
wasn’t a complete piece of shit to her was Ian, which was incredibly ironic. As much as Mickey  
wanted to play it off, he loved the hell out of his sister and wanted what was best for her and as far  
as he was concerned, there wasn’t much better than Zev.

“So it’s settled then,” Zev grinned, “I will win the affections of your sister, in just the way that I  
won yours.”

“By annoying the shit out of her until she just gives in?” Mickey asked with a laugh.

Zev shrugged, “Why break what is not broken?”

Their conversation veered to work and as they talked and drank, Mickey’s head grew lighter, his  
inhibitions lower. He slid his phone out of his pocket and shot off a text to Ian.  
-Was fucking with u Princess. Send me a pic-

The response was almost immediate and Mickey couldn’t help but laugh.

-(middle finger emoji)-  
-now I’m thinkin of u fingering my ass-  
-ur a fucking cocktease-  
-what r u doin? Send me one-  
-smoking-  
-send me a pic-  
-of the weed?-  
-ur dick now-  
-u drunk?-  
-(middle finger emoji)-  
-hold on-

Mickey rested the phone on his lap, hoping that Ian would actually follow through. The pervert  
had been sending him pictures of his cock for the last few weeks without being prompted and now  
that he’d actually requested one the prick was playing hard to get. Why was he so fucking  
frustrating? If he wasn’t one beer past buzzing he would have told him to fuck off, but instead the  
alcohol had gone straight to his dick and he was waiting anxiously. Zev was droning on about  
something that he probably should have been paying more attention to, but he was distracted by  
his phone screen. When a text came through Mickey’s heart began to beat so fast that he could  
hear it in his ears. He swiped right and laid his eyes on the picture, deciding that he fucking hated  
Ian Gallagher more than he could possibly even comprehend. In the forefront was Ian’s middle  
finger and behind it was his naked ball sack resting heavy on his pillow. Below the picture was a  
text:  
-went 4 a run after work & didn’t shower-

Though he wanted to kick his ass, he couldn’t help but laugh.

-Get ur nasty balls off my pillow-  
-Cum make me-

Mickey licked his lips, attempting to ignore the devil on his shoulder screaming for him to go get  
fucked. He knew it would complicate things and he wasn’t ready for what would come with it;  
what Ian would want, maybe even expect. A belly full of beer made a hard dick really fucking  
hard to ignore and his dick was hard as hell for Ian.  
-c u soon-

With that, he rose to his feet, “Gotta go, man,” he apologized throwing a 20 down on the table.

“You know your money is no good with me,” Zev said handing it back, “You gonna have the  
shits?”

Mickey narrowed his eyes and sighed, “Yeah, something like that.” He tossed the money back to  
Zev, “Use it to take Mandy out.”

Zev laughed, “She’s a beauty, I’m going to have to do better than $20.”

As Mickey exited the restaurant and made his way back to the El he idly wondered if his sister  
had ever been on a real date. Thinking of Mandy led him to text Ian a pressing question:

-Where’s Mandy?-  
-Passed out-  
-On El. Be in my bed-

His leg was bouncing with anticipation as the train sped to the South Side. He dropped his face  
into his hands, rubbed his eyes and groaned, wondering what the fuck he was doing. He was  
fucking human. How long was he supposed to hold out when Ian was throwing himself at him?  
He could feel his whole body shivering as he walked back to his house. As much as he wanted to  
blame it on the frigid air, he knew that it was adrenaline coursing through his body. He wanted  
this, he wanted him. Bad.

He opened his bedroom door to find Ian lying on his bed, in that fucking green shirt and jeans,  
messing around on his phone. When he caught sight of Mickey, he immediately tossed his phone  
aside, raised his eyebrows, and licked his lips with want.

“Fucking jealous ass bitch, huh?” Mickey chided, losing his shoes and then tearing off his shirt.  
He climbed onto the bed and straddled his legs around an awestruck Ian, palming the back of his  
head and pulling his face up towards his, “C’mere.” The kiss was tongues before lips, tangling  
hotly with an insatiable need for each other. The sounds of smacking mouths and soft moans filled  
the room as their making out intensified, Ian sliding his hands below Mickey’s jeans and grasping  
onto the flesh of his ass greedily. Mickey rutted down against the impressive hard on that was  
bulging underneath Ian’s jeans.

Ian started to throw his head back from the pleasure of the fiction and the sexiness of Mickey’s cut  
body hovering over him, but instead of allowing him to let go, Mickey continued to kiss him  
vehemently, catching all of his moans in his mouth, “Holy fuck I want you,” Ian rasped against  
full lips.

“Take me then,” He urged his voice low and sexy.

They continued kissing as they hurriedly unbuttoned their pants. That was until they heard a small  
voice.

“Daddy?”

Their faces shot towards the door to find Yevgeny staring at them, eyes wide with confusion.

“What’s up, buddy?” Mickey asked, his voice higher than usual as he lifted himself off of Ian and  
straightened his hair, “You ok?”

“The monsters are back,” He whispered in a terrified tone, “Mommy’s at work and Aunt Mandy  
doesn’t know how to get rid of them.”

“Ah shit,” Mickey cleared his throat as he got to his feet, “They’re really back, huh?”  
Yevgeny nodded sadly.

“Alright, we’ll take care of them,” Mickey assured him, tilting his head at Ian and clicking his  
tongue to indicate that it wasn’t gonna happen.

“And lay with me?” The child asked hopefully as Mickey scooped him up into his arms.

“Yeah,” His father confirmed, rubbing his back soothingly.

“I could…” Ian began his face falling, knowing that he should give it up. He scratched the back of  
his head and sighed, thinking that he should head back home. The weed had Mandy snoring like a  
beast and he didn’t want to rush Mickey’s time with his kid. He stood up from the bed, buttoned  
his pants and laid a kiss on Yevgeny’s forehead. He looked to Mickey as if he was going to give  
him a kiss, too, but the expression of warning all over Mickey’s face told him that wouldn’t be a  
great idea, “I’ll see you.”

“Bye Ian,” Yevgeny called after him as the redhead and his icy blue balls headed towards the coat  
rack.

Chapter Eighteen: Puppies

It was just past 3am when Mickey woke up with a kink in his neck and a charley horse in his  
thigh. Trying to remain as quiet as possible, he massaged the muscles in an attempt to loosen them  
before gingerly climbing out of his son’s bed, careful not to disrupt his sleep. In the past, he’d  
spent an abundance of time in a twin size bed with a much lankier bedmate, limbs as strings  
tangled carelessly with hands held tight. It was different sleeping next to Yevgeny, the need to  
protect him leaving him more prudent and worried. He stood in the center of the room, just as he  
had for the last several nights, bare feet tickled by the plush rug Svetlana had lain over the stained  
carpet, watching his child. He was cherubic, his alabaster cheeks flushed with sleep, still padded  
by baby fat that seemed to lessen with each passing day. His little mouth, framed by full lips, pink  
as posies, was reminiscent of his own with a deep Cupid’s bow and a puckered pout.

Life had a way of constantly leading him in directions that he’d never thought he’d go. From  
being a gay man open with his sexuality to his incarceration and then subsequent career with the  
DEA, the twists and turns he’d encountered had been relentless. At each juncture, he’d kept  
going, mustering the strength he’d fostered early in his childhood, a toughness born out of the  
need to survive his father. After having one like Terry, a father was not something he ever hoped  
to be. His car crash of a conception made it easy to push Yevgeny away, to reject the very idea of  
him. Of the few things he was proud of in his life, the short list of accomplishments that was  
growing with time, allowing himself to fall in love with his son was the most difficult, but  
rewarding.

Svetlana had been consistent in bringing Yevgeny to visit him while he was in prison and  
eventually he started to look forward to seeing them both. He’d studied Yev closer each time,  
trying to determine where Svetlana ended and he began; the slope of his nose, the shape of his  
eyes, the expressions of his face. He surprised himself by missing him while he was in Mexico,  
wondering how he’d grown and changed, worried that the picture in his mind no longer reflected  
the boy he saw in the visiting room. It hadn’t. By the time Mickey got back to Chicago, Yev’s hair  
was darker, his eyes were bluer, he was taller and leaner, a little person instead of a baby blob. In  
him, Mickey saw an effervescence and innocence he was sure he himself had never possessed.  
Yevgeny was full of life and bright as hell, open, loving and able to disarm his father with a smile.  
He never thought he would be able to feel the love a man was supposed to feel for their child for  
Yev, but he did, he felt it in spades.

He moved closer to the bed again so that he could pull the fluffy, airplane comforter up around  
Yevgeny’s shoulders, the smell of Johnson’s Baby Shampoo wafting up to fill him with warmth.  
It wasn’t that the scent made him nostalgic; it didn’t. It was the fact that he could afford to  
purchase the ‘nicer’ soap for his child, that Yevgeny’s sheets were softer than any he had ever  
slept on, that he had a mother, father, uncles, aunt, and whatever the fuck Ian was who gave a shit  
about him. His kid had a good life, a comfortable life and there was nothing that he would ever be  
prouder of than that. He raked tattooed fingers through black hair and gazed down at the boy for  
another moment before heading back to his bedroom.

He’d watched Ian leave hours ago, but it didn’t stop him from feeling disappointed when he  
opened the door to see an empty bed. He’d grown used to sleeping alone, but it didn’t mean that it  
sucked any less. He missed the way Ian’s breath would fan over his bare shoulders as he held him  
close, how the redhead would burrow his face into the skin of his neck inhaling him like he was  
the oxygen that filled his lungs. More than anything, he missed waking up to the kisses and hugs  
the affectionate man would lavish him with. Emotionally, Ian had never been as giving as he was  
physically. Mickey couldn’t have imagined that he’d be the one in a relationship that would share  
more, need to talk more, but he was, he did. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and looked  
at the screen, not surprised to find a texts from Ian, but taken aback by what they said:

12:14 -You always tried to get rid of my monsters too  
12:16 -I'm sorry I'm fucked up  
12:17 -I never showed you that I loved you enough  
12:18 -I'm sorry  
12:20 -Let me prove how much I do

He laid back in his bed, staring at the words on the screen, words he needed to hear from Ian's  
mouth not his fingers, sentiments that would have healed him years ago, before his wounds had  
begun to mend themselves. He wasn't bleeding anymore, not really, but it didn't mean that he  
didn't still feel pain. He'd accepted long ago that his love for Ian would be an ache that ebbed and  
flowed through his body, never dissipating or leaving him fully. When he drifted to sleep he was  
feeling that tenderness more intensely than he had in years.

A few hours later, the smell of cinnamon permeated his nose, causing his eyes to open and his  
mouth to water. He put his hand on his chin and pushed it to the side to crack his neck and  
climbed out of bed. He found Svetlana by the stove making French toast while Yevgeny and Iggy  
played with Legos on the kitchen table.

"He had monsters again?" Svetlana asked as Mickey approached and snatched a piece of bacon  
from the skillet. She smacked his hand playfully and then smiled, "I checked on him when I got  
off shift and saw you sleeping in there."

"Yeah, had to take care of those fuckers," Mickey confirmed with a smirk, tussling Yev's hair  
before taking a seat.

"Yevvy told me something pretty interesting this morning," Iggy stated eyeing his brother up and  
down, "Anything interesting happen last night?"

"Nope," Mickey said nonchalantly, gnawing on the inside of his cheek and staring right back at  
Iggy, a challenge.

"That right?" Iggy pressed taking a sip of his coffee. Svetlana laughed softly and shook her head.

"Mmmhmm, That's right," Mickey confirmed. He was hoping that Yevgeny didn't understand  
what he saw when he walked in on he and Ian. He knew it was unrealistic to think that a 3 year  
old wouldn't be able to recognize kissing, but he wanted to believe it was possible. Clearly, it  
wasn't.

"Seen Ian recently?" Iggy prodded with a smug fucking look on his stupid face.

Mickey pursed his lips and shook his head, the tell-tale look of being caught all over his face.

"Daddy and Ian kiss like puppies do!" Yev exclaimed loudly in the room that had moments before  
turned awkwardly quiet, "Like this," he continued, wagging his tongue out of his mouth like he  
was trying to catch flies.

Mickey could feel the blush creeping across his cheeks and all he could think to say was, "It's not  
nice to talk about what happens in people's bedrooms, Yev."

Yevgeny shrugged, nonplussed by his father's statement, "You love each other, right? We kiss  
people we love." He smiled at his mother, who uncomfortably nodded her head back at him, glad  
the lessons she taught him were going in, but concerned about the context.

"Um," Mickey rubbed his thumb and index finger over his eyebrows, not sure how to answer the  
question without upsetting his kid or giving him false hope that what he saw was something more  
than what it was, "We're friends," was the best he could come up with, knowing that even that  
was a stretch.

"We don't kiss our friends," Yev stated in a stern voice, eyes narrowing at Mickey.

"He was kissing Zaria at the playground," Svetlana explained to Mickey placing a plate in front of  
him, "I told him we do not kiss our friends. We kiss the people we love."

"So you love Ian, right?" Yevgeny repeated, his tone growing anxious, "Do you love him?"

Mickey sighed overwhelmed by the situation, unsure of where to go from here. Though Ian had  
stepped up in terms of Yevgeny, it was hard to forget that he had disappeared from his life when  
Mickey was behind bars. He knew the redhead had a propensity for running all too well. It was  
one thing when it fucked with him, but the idea of it affecting his kid as well, creating a blemish  
on his otherwise idyllic life made Mickey feel sick to his stomach. He pushed the food away from  
him, though he has hardly taken a bite, unable to settle the churning, "I... uh," he looked at  
Svetlana, silently urging her to jump in, to make the whole conversation go away.

"Yevvy, your daddy is very tired from getting rid of the monsters, alright? You can ask him  
another time about puppy kisses," She winked at Mickey and tapped her son's plate, "eat your  
breakfast, my baby."

Yevgeny nodded and turned his attention to his plate, while Mickey shot Iggy a completely  
unimpressed middle finger. He forced himself to eat the rest of his breakfast knowing that he had a  
long day in front of him.

When he got back into his bedroom he threw himself down on his bed, burying his face into the  
pillow. Things between he and Ian were complicated to begin with, but Yevgeny's peaked  
curiosity succeeded in making them more convoluted. As much as he feared getting hurt, he was  
more terrified of his son feeling that sort of pain. It was one thing not to trust Ian with his  
emotions, it was another to distrust him with his son's. Yevgeny hasn't done anything to warrant  
getting wrapped up in their mess. He groaned, rolling over to his back so he could check the time  
on his phone. It was 7:30am and he knew he had to get in the shower or he was going to make he  
and Zev both late for work. He slid open his latest texts from Ian:

7:20 -Morning  
7:22 -Have class 2night. Could come by after...LMK  
7:23 -We can pick up where we left off (winky face emoji)  
7:25 -(eggplant emoji, shocked face emoji, water drops emoji)

Mickey sighed and tossed the phone down deciding not to reply. He made his way into the  
shower, needing to relieve his stress. While the hot water pounded down on his sore body, he idly  
wondered what class Ian was taking and more importantly, why he gave a shit.

Chapter Nineteen: Hurt

The day had started out just like any other Wednesday would. Ian woke up and reached for his  
phone so he could text Mickey. He hadn't heard from him since they'd almost fucked on Monday  
night and he was pretty sure that Mickey regretted making out with him, which was a really awful  
feeling.

-Miss u. When can I see u?-

He showered, got dressed, and put his textbook into his backpack, deciding that he'd do a few of  
his assignments during his downtime at work. He was surprised when he didn't have any. The first  
call was an elderly woman who had fallen trying to walk up the stairs, the second was a boy at the  
local school who had a Grand Mal seizure, and the third was the love of his life who had been  
stabbed by a doped up smack addict.

As soon as the call came through that a law enforcement agent was down, Ian's stomach dropped.  
He knew it was unlikely that it'd be Mickey, after all, calls like that weren't rare. Still, on the ride  
over he tried to calm his nerves, knowing that he wouldn't feel settled until he was sure it wasn't  
him.

He saw Zev first, all 6'5" of him hovered over the figure on the sidewalk, hard to miss even on his  
knees. All of his training and crisis management skills vanished as soon as his eyes moved to the  
crimson stream of blood trickling from a black jacket onto the grey concrete. Having seen a  
significant amount of blood in both his life and career, he wasn't squeamish, but knowing whose  
blood it was caused him to lose his bearings.

"C'mon," Sue urged, slapping him on the back before she jogged over to the scene.

He followed, a wave of nausea crashing over him when he saw the pallor of Mickey's face and  
the way he was grimacing in pain.

As Sue went through the motions and prepared Mickey for the gurney, Ian dropped to his knees  
and grasped onto the brunet's hand. He'd been facing towards Zev, away from the wound, but his  
head snapped towards the touch, eyes wide with surprise, "Gallagher?"

"Mick," He croaked, the lump in his throat constricting his voice, "Mickey."

Sue rattled off vitals, her tone all business until she caught sight of Ian bringing the victim's hand  
cautiously to his lips and kissing it gently. She watched as they gazed at each other for a moment,  
as if the other man was all they wanted to see. Their trance was broken by Zev informing Sue that  
"he is his ex-boyfriend."

"What happened?" Ian demanded, his eyes shooting towards Zev rife with anger, "How'd you let  
this happen? Aren't you supposed to have his back?"

Zev looked thunderstruck by the accusation, but recognizing the panic on Ian's face he held  
himself back from engaging, simply stating, "These things happen."

"How? How'd this happen?" He looked at Mickey, softer, worried.

"Had this fuckin' smack fiend in a hold and the motherfucker turned on me, got away." Mickey  
stated, wincing as Sue continued to work on him, "It's a fucking scrape, don't know why this  
asshole even called it in."

"It's protocol," Zev reminded him, "I follow protocol."

"Fucking boy scout," Mickey groused, wincing as Sue readjusted him a bit, "Ain't nothing,  
Gallagher. Not like when you got my ass shot," He teased forcing a half-smile, "Twice."

"It wasn't your ass both times," Ian said quietly, feeling some of his anxiety begin to wane. He  
looked at Sue as if to confirm the validity of his statements.

She nodded her head, "Looks like a flesh wound. He may have gotten some muscle, but it's not as  
bad as it looks. Your friend here is a bleeder."

"Been called worse, right?" Mickey joked, attempting to shrug and flinching at the pain, "Holy  
shit, Ian! Isn't this you're fucking job?" he scoffed unable to take the wrecked look on the  
redhead's face for any longer, "Pull it the fuck together."

Sue tried to hold back her laughter as she zipped up her bag and asked Zev, "Are you gonna ride  
with us?"

He shook his head, well aware that Ian's eyes were piercing into him, "I'll meet you at Holy  
Cross," He knew the drill.

"I'm gonna stay with him," Ian informed his coworker as they loaded Mickey into the back of the  
ambulance.

"I figured," She replied, giving him a knowing smile, very glad to put Mickey's face to his name.

"For the day," Ian clarified.

"I know."

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Ian fawning over Mickey in the hospital while the patient  
frequently lost his patience at the treatment and told him to 'fuck off'. Zev attempted to act as an  
intermediary, which elicited an assortment of angry responses from both men. By the time they got  
back to the Milkovich house, the Israeli was more than ready to get the fuck away from the pair,  
who argued like a married couple but somehow found common ground when it came to ganging  
up on him.

"Do you need me to stay, my baby?" Zev asked once he and Ian had helped Mickey into his bed.

The term of endearment earned him a dirty look from Ian, just as the Many before it had done.

"I'm here to take care of him," Ian shot in an aggravated tone, as he fluffed the pillow under  
Mickey's head. The brunet attempted to reach up with his good arm and smack him away, "Fuck,  
stop it," Ian scoffed at him before looking back at Zev, "It's my job."

"You're a nurse now?" Zev asked, raising his eyebrows with a wry laugh, "C'mon now, I have  
never met an EMT that does house calls."

"That's literally what EMTs do, house calls. That's what we do," Ian stated, rolling his eyes.

"But they do not stay," Zev pointed out, "They come to the house, but they do not stay."

"Jesus fucking Christ, you both gotta get the fuck outta here or I'm gonna stab myself in the  
fucking face," Mickey moaned, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

"Alright, alright," Zev relented coming over to kiss Mickey on the top of his head, "You will call  
me if you need me?"

Mickey nodded the affirmative and watched as Zev left the room.

"I don't like him," Ian complained, opening up a water bottle and holding it to Mickey's lips,

"Drink."

"My hands still work you dumb shit," Mickey protested pursing his lips after the statement.

"You're a stubborn dick, you know that?" Ian sighed, screwing the lid back on the bottle and  
placing it on his Mickey's bedside table.

"Says the fucking King of Stubborn dicks," Mickey slung back with a smirk.

"Fuck," Ian groaned sitting on the edge of the bed adjacent to Mickey's stomach, "You drive me  
crazy."

"Yeah, join the club, Gallagher."

"You need to take your antibiotic with food. What do you want me to make?"

"I'll take it later," Mickey stated with a yawn, "Gotta take a nap. The Morphine fucked me up."

"Fine, but you gotta take it when you wake up," Ian said sternly, "Are you comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be with you all up in my face," Mickey said sleepily, "You can go. I'll  
survive."

Ian shook his head, "Not happening."

"This fucking "Misery"? You gonna tie me to the bed next?" Mickey joked with a grin.

"Never used to complain about that shit before," Ian reminded him licking his lips mischievously,

"Loved when I tied you up, didn't you? Held you still while I railed that ass..."

"Just end it now, man. Can't take much more of you," Mickey sighed, unable to hide the color that  
had rushed back to his cheeks.

"Can I fuck around on your phone? Mine's dead."

"You gonna go through my shit?" Mickey questioned raising his eyebrows suspiciously.

"Probably," He admitted matter-of-factly, "Am I gonna find anything interesting?"

"Probably," Mickey clicked his tongue, "Don't try to take advantage of me while I'm sleeping."

"I'll try to hold myself back," He said only half kidding. He watched as Mickey closed his eyes,  
the painkillers helping him drift to sleep in record time. He wanted to lay next to him, kiss those  
plump lips, tell him how much he loved him, but instead he watched him sleep just as he had so  
many times before. Mickey used to hate when he called him beautiful, but how could he not with  
a face like his, that body, his soul.

He raised his hand to Mickey's cheek, ghosting it over the skin. Tentatively, he allowed his fingers  
to tangle in dark tresses, listening to rhythmic pattern of slow breaths. He couldn't remember a  
time when he didn't see him, really see him, past the bullshit, beyond the pretenses, just Mickey. It  
started as a crush, that grew into an infatuation, and then love. He wished he would've been strong  
enough to love Mickey the way he deserved to be loved and to allow Mickey to love him that  
way, too. He could never cope well with powerful emotions; feelings that dug below the surface  
caused him to jog and when they bored down through the bone, he'd run. Mickey was the only  
person who ever made him feel that deeply, hurt that intensely, so as much as he loved him, he  
sprinted away, the most counterproductive of defenses; his race to self sabotage. Every time he ran  
he wish he would've stayed, so he could've realized that fracturing didn't mean they were broken  
and bending wouldn't have caused him to break.

He stared down at him for a while, so peaceful and pure, feeling like his heart could explode from  
the magnitude of his feelings for the man. It was incomprehensible to imagine life without him  
again. When his nose wriggled and he stirred, Ian carefully stood up, took Mickey's phone and  
laid down on the floor so he wouldn't disturb him.

As soon as he swiped past the lock screen a familiar black and yellow icon caught his eye: Grindr.  
He stopped himself from opening the app knowing that would be going too far, but he couldn't  
help but wonder if Mickey had met up with guys and if any of those fucking desperate assholes  
had been inside of him. Just the thought of another man being where he'd been, taking Mickey  
like that, made him sick. He swallowed the acidic taste that was rising in his throat and opened his  
photos. The fact that the first five rows of photos were dick pics, selfies and pictures that he'd sent  
him allowed him to settle down, relieved that he'd saved them all, that he gave a shit. He scrolled  
down further, stopping to grin at his silly selfies with Yev. When he reached the end of the roll he  
found a few pictures of the beach, surprised to see Mickey in the very last one. He was laying  
back on a beach chair in swim trunks, cheeks flushed pink, hair wild in the breeze, smiling at the  
camera while simultaneously giving it the finger. He looked light, relaxed and so fucking happy.  
He wanted Mickey like that with him, wanted to be next to him and on the other side of the  
camera. He wanted what he thought he couldn't have, all of it.

He hadn't realized that he'd fallen asleep until Svetlana came barreling into the room, waking them  
both up, anxious to hear what had occurred. Mickey filled her in and she directed him not to tell  
Yevgeny what happened, just to say that he hurt himself. One by one his family filtered in as Ian  
got busy making him toast and eggs for dinner, "You hanging around?" Mandy asked, after she  
exited Mickey's room and joined him in the kitchen, "You know we can take care of him."

"You should have seen him," Ian said shaking his head as if he was trying to knock the image  
away, "So pale."

"Freaky shit," Mandy said taking a bite of the eggs and drawing an annoyed look from her best  
friend, "He seems fine though."

"He has to take his antibiotic and keep taking his pain pills on a schedule, even if he doesn't feel  
like he needs to," Ian stated, his eyes looking a little frantic, "If he doesn't take it all correctly it'll  
fuck him up."

"Chill a little, Florence Nightingale," Mandy teased squeezing Ian's side playfully, not wanting  
him to become overwhelmed, "It's not the first time Mick's been stabbed. I think the last time he  
flushed it with hydrogen peroxide and sealed it with super glue. He'll be ok."

Ian let out a stuttering sigh and glanced a the clock. It was 8:00pm, "It's way past his scheduled  
dose," He grabbed the prescription bottle and the food before heading into Mickey's room, "You  
gotta take your pill," he informed him pouring a pill out and handing it to Mickey, along with the  
bottle of water.

"You're annoying as shit," Mickey stated, swallowing down the pill, "I can take care of myself  
you know. Ain't that big of a deal."

"It is though..." Ian disagreed.

"It's really not," he argued taking a bite of the eggs, "fluffy."

"It is to me," Ian reiterated, "Couldn't stand seeing you like that."

"But I'm alright. You don't gotta stay," Mickey mumbled with his mouth full.

"Fuck," Ian snapped, "Let me take care of you, ok? You always fucking took care of me. Let me  
take care of you for a fucking change."

Mickey lifted his eyebrows and narrowed his eyes at Ian, "Alright."

"So I can stay with you tonight? Take care of you?" Ian asked eagerly.

"I'm just gonna sleep. What're you gonna do?" Mickey asked skeptically, biting into his toast but  
not taking his eyes off of the redhead who was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I have to monitor your temperature to make sure you don't get an infection," Ian stated.

"They didn't say that."

"They did," Ian argued, "You were out of it."

"No I wasn't."

"You were. You kept hitting the Morphine drip."

"Fuck off."

"It's true. They said that I had to check it every few hours... anally." He broke unable to keep a  
straight face.

Mickey was laughing as hard as Ian was while telling him that he was a 'sick fuck.' "You're  
sleeping on the floor. Don't want your lanky ass limbs all over me."

"Fine," Ian agreed, "Want me to give you sponge bath?"

"You can't talk either."

"Not even about Grindr?" Ian asked with a slight frown.

"Yeah, especially not about that," Mickey confirmed, giving him a look of warning, "You're a  
bitch, you know that?"

"I love you, too," Ian said simply, watching as Mickey finished eating his dinner.

Chapter Twenty: Cravings

"Ian," Mickey whispered into the darkness. No response. He tried to shift his weight so he could  
sit up and look over the side of the bed to see if Ian was still in the room but the sharp pain in his  
shoulder kept him in place, "Fuck," he muttered. He cleared his throat loudly. Nothing. Growing  
up in the Gallagher house had made him one hell of a deep sleeper. It always bugged the shit out  
of Mickey how tough he was to wake up, especially when Yevgeny was a baby. While Mickey  
had tossed and turned all night, attempting to sleep through the crying in the next room, Ian had  
slept soundly, the only rested person in the house, "Hey Sleeping Beauty," he called, causing Ian  
to practically jump to a seated position his eyes wide.

"Yeah, shit. I'm up. What's going on? You ok?" He asked fretfully.

"Shoulders throbbing like a motherfucker. Get me a Vicodin."

Ian checked the alarm on his freshly charged phone, "You're not due for another half hour."

"You think it's gonna fucking kill me?" Mickey asked with a sigh, "C'mon, man."

"Alright," Ian conceded standing up so he could turn on the lamp and He look through Mickey's  
prescription bottles. He pulled out the correct pill and handed it to Mickey along with the bottle of  
water.

He swallowed down the pill, "Thanks."

"Need anything else?" He asked resting his hand on his uninjured shoulder and looking down at  
him with worried eyes.

"Nah, I'm good," Mickey replied, trying not to stare at Ian's form, so cut and tempting in only his  
boxer briefs. He wanted to protest when Ian reached to turn off the lamp but Instead he asked  
lamely, "Are you cold?"

"I'm ok," He assured him, standing awkwardly next to the bed as if he was waiting for Mickey's  
next request.

"There's space for you up here if you wanna, you know, lay here for a while or whatever," He  
said trying to sounds nonchalant, but failing epically, "Look cold."

"Remember you saying something about my gangly limbs," Ian reminded him sitting down edge  
of the bed.

"Lanky," Mickey corrected, biting his lower lip, "Think I'll be alright."

Ian grinned and climbed under the covers, laying on his left side so his body was turned towards  
Mickey.

"Little help" Mickey grunted trying to turn himself onto his right side. Ian slid his arms underneath  
of him so he could guide his body. Once he was adjusted their heads were resting on the same  
pillow, faces only inches apart.

"Hi," Ian said softly, his eyes resting contentedly on Mickey's.

"Hey," He responded, his voice barely audible.

It was as if their lips knew they belonged together, because they found one another before Ian or  
Mickey could stop them. The kiss was the reminiscent of a whisper, soft and hardly there.

"I can't do this with you again," Mickey said faintly against Ian's lips.

"Kiss me?"

"Us. I can't do it again," His voice was subdued, regretful.

"We can't be over," Ian shook his head slowly, his lips moving from Mickey's, his eyes filling  
with tears.

"I can't trust you," Mickey said gently, reaching his thumb up to brush away a fat tear that was  
trickling down Ian's cheek.

"Please, let me prove it to you."

"I'm here now. It's fucking easy, but you're not down for me when shit gets hard. Three times,  
Ian," His voice cracked and he shook his head trying to steel himself, "Shit's gonna get hard again  
cause it always fucking does, and then you're gone, and I can't fucking come back from that  
again."

"I need you to understand," Ian cried his voice desperate.

"Make me then," Mickey urged, "make me understand."

"I'm not good at talking about this stuff," Ian sniffed, hating himself for holding it all back,  
knowing that if he didn't let him in, he would lose him. He closed his eyes, but it didn't stop the  
tears from streaming down his face. He wanted to be stronger, needed to be.

"Used to be," Mickey reminded him, "Taught me how to blurt out my fucking feelings all the  
time, right?" He continued to wipe the tears off of the freckled face.

"I stopped trusting myself, my thoughts, my words. It fucked me up looking in the mirror and not  
recognizing who was looking back at me. After all that shit happened.. Yevgeny, Monica,  
prison... I just stopped," He rambled, not sure if what he was saying held as much meaning to  
Mickey as it did for him.

"Stopped what?"

"Living."

The room quiet with the exception of Ian's sniffles, the sentiment hanging heavy over both of  
them.

"How?" Mickey pressed.

"Let everyone tell me what was good for me and let myself believe it. Thought I wanted all that  
shit that matters on paper, that it would all make me feel alive, but it killed me."

"You told me it wasn't you anymore. That you were too good for my bullshit, fucked up life,"  
Mickey whispered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"No, not you," Ian cried, grabbing his hands way harder than he intended to.

"Fucking dumbass," Mickey winced in pain.

"Shit, I'm sorry," He sighed leaning forward to kiss the skin just below his wound, "I'm sorry."  
He continued to scatter kisses onto his skin until he heard a gruff voice probe him to, "finish what  
you were saying."

"I run from everything," Ian stated.

"Only run from me," Mickey corrected.

"You're everything," He emphasized, his words growing more frenzied and erratic, "Thought  
going to Mexico would be leaving everything behind, but you're all I need. I wanted to prove to  
my family that I wasn't gonna be like Monica. That I wasn't gonna be a runner like her. She  
always left us, her family, she left us and she didn't give a shit. I wanted to show them that I  
wouldn't fucking be like that, but I got it wrong."

"How?" Mickey asked watching as Ian's bottom lip quivered with emotion. He wanted to tell him  
it was enough for the night, to calm him down, but he stopped himself. He needed to know,  
needed to hear it.

"You're my family," He asserted, his eyes wide as if he was having an epiphany, his words  
leading him instead of the other way around, "I'm just like her," he breathed, "I run away from my  
family like she did. When shit got hard, she ran, when it got hard, I ran," The tears were pouring  
like a faucet and Mickey gave up trying to keep up with them, opting instead to lift up the  
comforter a bit and smoosh it into Ian's face. He could hear a wet, snotty laugh from underneath it  
and he felt a grin pull up on his own lips. A muffled voice came from beneath the fabric, "You  
trying to suffocate me?"

"Can't watch you cry like a sniveling little bitch anymore," Mickey teased, pulling the covers  
away. He looked at that face that he had stared at so many times before, sure that Ian's words were  
sincere. The embers of anger that had been flaming up inside of him here and there, were snuffed  
out but his hurt still remained.

"I'm not gonna run anymore, Mick. I'm not gonna be like her," He promised, "You're all I want.  
Just you. Let me show me how much I love you."

Mickey swallowed hard, unsure of what to say, "I'm not ready," was all he could come up with.

"Do you think you'll ever be able to love me again?" Ian asked, voice rife with worry, eyes filling  
back up with tears.

"Love was never the fucking problem, Gallagher," Mickey stated, "You know that."

"I should've gotten in the fucking car," Ian croaked, blowing his nose into the comforter.

"Fucking, really?! You nasty ass bastard," Mickey exclaimed looking at Ian like he was an alien,

"You're so fucking worried about me getting a goddamn infection and you blew snot all over my  
shit."

"I didn't want to get up, I mean, we're in the middle of something pretty important," Ian reminded  
him.

"I fucking know that... but you're shooting snot rockets into my fucking blanket," Mickey groused  
rubbing his forehead, "You stress me the fuck out, you know that?"

"You're being really dramatic right now," Ian said standing up on the bed and tearing the  
comforter off of them. He threw it onto the ground and leaned over the side of the bed so he could  
get the blanket that he had been sleeping with, "I'll sleep with the snot blanket." He laid the  
cleaner blanket over them, making sure to tuck it underneath Mickey's armpit so it didn't run  
against his dressing.

"You'll sleep with me," Mickey corrected reaching his hand up to rest it on Ian's cheek.

"I thought you weren't ready," He said tilting his cheek into the touch, needing it.

"We're not fucking, we're sleeping, Firecrotch," Mickey scoffed rolling his eyes.

"Do you think you'll ever be ready again?" He asked tentatively.

"I hope so," Mickey replied honestly.

"So we're what then?" Ian tried to clarify, "Friends that make out sometimes?" He grimaced at the  
intensity of the downgrade.

"We're a fucking mess is what we are and who said shit about making out?" He asked with a  
smirk, grasping the back of Ian's head and pulling him towards him. The subsequent kisses were  
languid and nostalgic, memories of easier days when they'd wake up in the morning together with  
nowhere to go and nothing to do but each other. Lazy Sundays spent falling even more in love  
than either of them thought possible, hearts full and healthy, not riddled with the lesions and scars  
that now covered them.

"I'm gonna prove it to you," Ian promised into his mouth, "Not gonna give up."

"Don't want you to," Mickey admitted, softly, "Just don't..."

"Don't what?" Ian asked pulling back so he could look into Mickey's worried eyes.

"Expect too much." He knew that telling Ian Gallagher not to expect too much was like telling the  
heroin addict that stabbed him not to take a hit. He knew that he shouldn't be kissing him, that the  
signals were painfully mixed, but just like a dope fiend, he had cravings and a really fucking hard  
time fighting them, too.

Chapter Twenty-One: Indulgence

Mickey was sore as hell and it wasn't just his shoulder that was aching. His back was stiff from  
being in bed for the better part of the last two weeks. It wasn't that he couldn't get up and walk  
around, it was more that he hadn't wanted to. His time off from work that was intended to be spent  
convalescing had led to a different type of recuperation; one that focused more on his heart than  
anything else. He'd been treating his leave as a cheat from his self-imposed Ian diet and shit, had  
he been indulging. His lips were more sensitive than anything else that ailed him; puffy and raw  
from their near constant kissing. He'd spent his days sleeping to catch up from the nights spent  
reconnecting with Ian, sharing almost as many words as kisses.

"Fuck," Ian sighed pulling back from the marathon make out session they'd been enjoying to catch  
his breath, "Missed this." He pushed a loose strand of Mickey's hair out of his face and gazed into  
eyes, the moony look on his face reflecting his infatuation. He placed his hand on Mickey's cheek  
and pressed his lips against his swollen pout again, "Missed you."

"Shh," Mickey hushed, sliding his tongue through slotted lips and challenging Ian's to tangle with  
it. The redhead was beginning to think that they'd been doing so much kissing as a way for  
Mickey to shut him up when he started to demonstrate that he wasn't tempering his expectations;  
evidently, he'd been getting carried away often. It was difficult not to when Mickey allowed him  
to come over nightly during his recovery to care for him, when they both knew that he was past  
the point of needing round the clock help. Still, Mickey had managed to keep him at arms length  
while wrapping his body around him; a delicate dance that kept Ian on his toes.

"So I tell you that I missed you and to shut me up I get your tongue shoved in my mouth. What  
are you gonna do if I tell you how much I love you?" Ian asked raising his eyebrows, "Put  
something bigger in there?"

"Fuck off," Mickey laughed, giving Ian a sweet peck.

"C'mon," Ian groaned, resting his hand on Mickey's hip bone, "Need to taste you," he licked his  
lips and pressed them against the curve of Mickey's shoulder, "Let me taste you," he muttered  
against warm skin. He let his hand travel down to the erection that was tenting Mickey's thin grey  
sweatpants, gripping it firmly, "Think of it as Physical Therapy," he reasoned, positioning himself  
so he was hovering over Mickey, his knees on either side of the brunet's hips. Leaning down, Ian  
peppered the skin around Mickey's dressed wound with kisses, a course of treatment that he'd  
been prescribing for the last couple of weeks. Though it was not a medical fact that kisses healed,  
he'd convinced Mickey to at least let him give it a try, "The rest of your body is hurting, so you let  
me take care of this ache," he stroked the straining hard-on over the cloth slowly for emphasis,  
"and at least you get rid of some of the discomfort."

"Gotta admit, Gallagher, that ain't a bad argument," Mickey conceded, putting his good arm  
behind his head and letting out a contented sigh as he watched Ian kiss down his chest to his belly  
and then lick the skin directly above where his waistband was resting low on his hips. Night after  
night of rejecting Ian's advances had worn him down and the vivid memories of how well that  
mouth could handle a cock eroded any of his remaining resolve.

"Yeah?" Ian asked hopefully, lifting his head so that he could look at Mickey, his eyes alight with  
the possibility. They'd gotten to this point before, Ian ready to pleasure him and Mickey calling it  
off saying he didn't want to 'confuse shit.' As far as Ian was concerned, shit was already confused  
and it may as well be fucked up with Mickey's dick in his mouth.

"Better get to it, man, before I come to my senses," Mickey stated raising his eyebrows and licking  
his lips hotly. From the way his heart was racing and chest was heaving, he knew that his threat  
was empty; he was too far gone to stop him.

Not wanting to waste another second, Ian yanked down his sweatpants and practically salivated as  
Mickey's cock sprang up, hard and fucking perfect. The brunet let out a soft laugh at the barely  
audible "Mmm" that came from Ian's lips and raised his hips up to indicate to the redhead that he  
should stop ogling and get his mouth on him.

He started off slowly tracing his tongue around the head of his cock, allowing himself to savor the  
salty and sweet taste of Mickey's warm skin. From the hums of appreciation he heard coming from  
Mickey, he was sure that he was enjoying this brand of reconnecting as much as he was. Long flat  
licks up and down his shaft had Mickey muttering 'fuck,' his eyes enraptured by how incredibly  
sexy Ian looked, tongue bathing his cock. Though his preference was to keep watching, when  
Ian's mouth sunk deeper around him, drawing him entirely down his throat and began to bob, he  
couldn't stop his head from falling back on the pillow or his eyes from closing as he let out a groan  
of ecstasy.

Able to feel Mickey's dick tighten and spasm in his mouth, Ian slowed his pace, not wanting it to  
end. He pulled off a bit so his lips were wrapped only around the head of his cock and licked at  
his slit that was leaking precum like a faucet. He let out another 'Mmm' which prompted Mickey  
to utter in an entirely wrecked voice, "Always love it when I feed you, huh?" The words shot  
right to Ian's cock causing it to twitch and demand attention. He shoved his hands down his pants  
and started to stroke himself at the rhythm he was working Mickey at, while the brunet dropped  
his hand from behind his head so he could tangle his fingers into Ian's hair and push him down  
further, "Perfect fucking cumslut," He moaned, "Oh shit, suck my cock so good." He could feel  
his balls tightening at the sound of Mickey's voice, so grasped around them and pulled down  
gently, willing himself not to cum before Mickey did. He was determined to give him the best  
blowjob of his life, so no douchebag on Grindr could ever compare.

Spurred by the thoughts of needing to prove that nobody could do it like him, Ian got down to  
business twisting, hollowing his cheeks, lightly dragging teeth, lapping his tongue heavy, deep  
throating, and completely fucking destroying Mickey in the process. Mickey could feel his whole  
body beginning to thrum with frenetic energy as Ian sucked him off like a beast. Just when he  
thought he knew what the man would do next he would change it up, throw Mickey for a loop;  
ghosting over his balls, nipping at his thigh, tracing the the base of his cock with his tongue while  
Mickey's tip brushed against the back of his throat.

"Fuck!" Mickey punched out as Ian brought him deep into his throat and started doing some sort  
of clicking thing that pulsed Mickey's entire cock, before shooting up to light fire to his groin. Ian  
was rapidly pumping his own cock again, ready to cum whenever Mickey let go. "You want it?"  
He rasped, his hips involuntarily bucking up into Ian's eager mouth. Ian hummed while bringing  
his free hand up to massage Mickey's balls. "Oh fuck. Oh! Here..." He let out a sputtering series  
of groans as he spilled down Ian's throat. The sensation caused Ian to fall over the edge cumming  
hard into his boxer briefs while moaning around Mickey's twitching cock, "Goddamn" the brunet  
sighed, attempting to catch his breath.

Ian pulled off of him with a pop, laying one last kiss on the head of his cock, before wiping his  
puffy wet lips with the back of his hand. He looked down at Mickey and smirked the naughtiest  
fucking smirk he'd ever seen.

"Pretty fuckin proud of yourself," Mickey said rubbing his forehead and laughing at what a tool  
Ian Gallagher was.

Ian just shrugged, smugness all over his damn face.

"Should be. C'mere," He prompted, cradling his hand behind Ian's head as soon as he got close  
enough and leading him to his lips. The kiss was electric, sending a charge through both of their  
spent bodies. When they were both completely breathless they reluctantly pulled apart.

"Need to borrow a pair of your boxers, messed mine up," Ian said, climbing off the bed and  
heading over to Mickey's underwear drawer while the brunet took in the view. It annoyed the shit  
out of him how stupid sexy Ian was. Life would be a whole lot easier if he was even an modicum  
less hot, "Grindr fucking?" He asked holding up a sleeve of condoms after he pulled out the  
underwear.

"You wanna talk about this while my jizz is still coatin' your throat, Firecrotch?" Mickey asked  
lighting up a cigarette, "Open the window."

Ian crossed the room, cracking it for ventilation and then lit one up for himself, "You doing most  
of the fucking?" He questioned, nonchalantly even though it was clear that he was anything but  
chill about the subject.

"Been kinda fucked up recently," Mickey reminded him, narrowing his eyes, "So not doin' any  
fucking."

"But when you were, did you, you know, do most of it?" Ian took a deep inhale of his cigarette,  
not sure why he was even asking.

"Fuck, Ian," Mickey chided, "It depends."

"On what?"

"You're pretty fucking annoying, you know that?" Mickey sighed shaking his head.

"I mean, you tell me that a lot, so I kinda get it," Ian said with a half grin. He paused trying to stop  
himself from asking the next question, unable to show restraint he proceeded, "You gonna stay on  
there?"

"Think we already discussed this," Mickey replied, knowing that he made a really big mistake  
letting things get as far as they did, "What this is..."

Ian just nodded as flashbacks of past painful moments appeared in his mind, 'You're nothing but a  
warm mouth to me.' He stopped himself from saying another fucking word on the subject because  
he knew what he was doing when he did it and he didn't want to shut whatever they had down.

"You on it?" Mickey asked biting his lower lip, before bringing his cigarette back to his mouth,

"Grindr?"

"Nah," He cleared his throat.

"You still got that boyfriend then?"

"What?!" Ian asked shocked, "I've been chasing you, kissing you, wanting to be with you. You  
think I have a fucking boyfriend?"

"I mean, you were fucking me when you had a boyfriends, so..." Mickey shrugged his good  
shoulder, "I dunno."

"Didn't date anyone when I got back," He replied, sadness washing over his face at the memories  
of the border, "Couldn't."

"Fucked guys though?"

Ian rolled his eyes and looked at Mickey like he asked a stupid fucking question, "Never meant  
shit to me. Means to an end, you know? Tried to hold out but started to get blisters on my palms."  
Mickey punched out a laugh, "Shit, feel so bad for you," He paused looking at Ian through dark  
eyelashes, thinking better than to say what he was about to say, "Go get me a beer."

"Can't drink on the painkillers," Ian reminded him.

"Fuck off Nurse Ratched, I'll skip my next pill. Need a beer."

Ian sighed and handed his cigarette to Mickey before heading out towards the kitchen. He was  
surprised to see Mandy and Zev sitting on the couch, her legs draped over his lap, looking cozy.  
He knew that they'd been on a few dates, but he hadn't realized they were at the 'midnight cuddles  
on the couch' level. He suddenly became painfully aware of his state of undress.

"Sounds like you're taking good care of the patient in there," Mandy said with a knowing grin as  
Ian made his way past them.

Ian gave her the finger and Zev gave him a dirty look.

"You are making rude gestures towards my baby," Zev tisked shaking his head at the display.

"He wasn't complaining," Ian assured him grabbing a beer out of the refrigerator.

"Shut up, Zev," Mandy giggled as Zev nuzzled his face into her neck. "He's talking about me,"  
she informed Ian, who looked completely unimpressed by the revelation.

"Don't be sad that you're not my baby. You prove that you're worthy and I'll take care of you  
too," Zev said matter-of-factly.

Ian scoffed as he headed back into Mickey's room, aggravated that this huge, annoying  
motherfucker had somehow entranced both Mickey and Mandy. Well he didn't dazzle Ian. No  
way. He wanted to punch him in his loud fucking mouth. Hard.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Hey Mickey

It was his third day on restrictive duty and Mickey was bored as hell. He wanted to be out in the  
field, fucking up drug dealers, but instead he was sitting at a desk, stamping 'Confidential' on  
papers that weren't even interesting enough to read. As if things couldn't get worse, Zev was at the  
desk next to him rambling on and on about his sister.

"You know what else she does that is just the cutest?" Zev continued, tapping his finger against  
his chin.

"Clogs the toilet after she eats Waffle House?" Mickey guessed not looking up from his stack of  
papers.

"My baby does not shit," Zev said shaking his head at the idea.

"Oh she does," Mickey assured him, "and it don't smell like roses."

"Mikhailo Milkovich, you have the freshest mouth, I swear," Zev groused, "I would think you'd  
be in a better mood since you are making love with your carrot."

Mickey's cheeks flushed pink at the statement, his eyes darting around the room to see if any of  
the other guys heard. From the way that they were trying to avoid looking back at him, he was  
sure they had. "You're too goddamn loud," He hissed, "and I'm not fucking anyone."

"I heard a lot of moaning coming from your room the other night," Zev said simply, "then your  
boy walks out half naked with his surprisingly monstrous third arm practically hanging out of his  
panties. I don't like this around my Mandy. It's disrespectful."

Mickey couldn't help but laugh at the description, "He's fucking gay. Don't think you got shit to  
worry about."

"She is not and that shlong hanging around must be tempting for her to look at. I caught myself  
staring," Zev stated matter-of-factly.

"Maybe you like cock," Mickey whispered with smirk, "That would be like the fourth time that  
shit happened to Mandy. Let her down easy."

Zev scoffed, "I'm annoyed by you today."

"Yeah, well. I'm annoyed by you every day," Mickey said with a shrug, noticing how the action  
no longer aggravated his healing shoulder. He took his phone out of his pocket and leaned back in  
his chair, resting his feet on his desk.

"You taking a break," Zev asked, voice full of judgement.

"I'm taking a fuck you, that's what I'm taking," Mickey said, flipping Zev the bird.

"You want to hear the funny story Mandy told me last night while we were basking in our  
afterglow?"

"Um, no. Rather eat glass," Mickey replied plainly opening his Grindr app. He had 10 new  
messages, but only one caught his eye, "You gotta be fucking kidding me," he muttered to himself  
when he saw a selfie of a shirtless Ian giving the finger to his camera.

HeyMickey1416 (9:02): Hey Mickey. You're so fine. You're so fine... Can I blow your mind?  
9MMGlock (9:47): Get outta my notifications. Thought U didn't have an account.  
HeyMickey1416 (9:49): Heard you can find hot guys to fuck on here. I only wanna fuck 1 & he's  
on here, so here I am.  
9MMGlock (9:52): Who is he?  
HeyMickey1416 (9:55): My future husband.  
9MMGlock (9:57): Fuck Gallagher, u got this whole 'don't expect 2 much' down.  
HeyMickey1416: (9:58): Do u get a lot of dick with that name? I'd be afraid to meet u.  
9MMGlock (9:59): I do alright & that's cuz ur a pussy. Hey Mickey... really? U know that shit  
annoys me.  
HeyMickey1416 (9:59): Everything annoys u.  
9MMGlock (10:00): (Middle Finger Emoji)  
HeyMickey1416 (10:01): So MM = ur initials Glock = gun Is the 9 for me? (winky face)  
9MMGlock (10:05): U wish. U know it's a gun.  
HeyMickey1416 (10:06): Whatever u gotta tell urself to get by. Gotta go save a life. BRB.  
9MMGlock (10:06): Don't gotta come back.  
HeyMick1416 (12:22): I'm back.  
HeyMick1416 (12:25): u there?  
HeyMick1416 (12:27): I was gone for like an hour & I got a million notifications.  
HeyMick1416 (12:28): Fuck an old guy just straight up messaged me & asked if he could eat  
peanut butter outta my ass. Is that a thing?  
HeyMick1416 (12:30): Sounds sticky, but if ur into that kinda shit now I'll do it.  
HeyMick1416 (12:45): Are u talking to some1 else?  
HeyMick1416 (12:50): I'm serious about the Peanut Butter. I'd eat it out of ur ass even if i was  
allergic. That's how bad I wanna fuck u.  
9MMGlock (12:56): Ur a fucking dumbass & I like jelly better.  
HeyMick1416 (12:56): U talking to other guys?  
9MMGlock (12:58): I'm working.  
HeyMick1416 (1:02): Didn't answer my question.  
9MMGlock (1:04): How could I be talking 2 any1 else when ur psycho messaging me.  
HeyMickey1416 (1:05): Ur onto me (Sunglasses Face Emoji)  
HeyMickey1416 (1:06): Wanna get on me?  
9MMGlock (1:10): No thx.  
HeyMickey1416 (1:14) U know none of these queens can dick u down like I can. Fucking own  
that ass.  
9MMGlock (1:16): Fuck off.  
HeyMickey1416 (1:29): Only if u cum with me.  
HeyMickey1416 (1:47): Where'd u go?  
HeyMickey1416 (1:53) U talking to someone?  
HeyMickey1416 (2:13): NGL it's kinda driving me crazy that U could be talking to guys right  
now.  
9MMGlock (2:17): Really? Ur hiding it so well. Had no idea.  
HeyMickey1416 (2:17): I can tell ur being sarcastic.  
HeyMickey1416 (2:32): These dudes are FREAKS. I'm not even responding & they're sending  
me the craziest shit.  
HeyMickey1416 (2:36): Like actual scat play. WTF.  
HeyMickey1416 (3:00) I feel like ur ignoring me.  
9MMGlock (3:13): I am.  
HeyMickey1416 (4:04): Know how I picked this name?  
9MMGlock (4:15): Got an idea.  
HeyMickey1416 (4:17): Our ages when we started banging.  
9MMGlock (4:20): Ur GAY  
HeyMickey1416 (4:26): We're on Grindr, Mick. Doesn't get much gayer than that.  
9MMGlock (4:30): (Middle Finger Emoji)  
HeyMickey1416 (4:42): Ur profile says ur versatile.  
HeyMickey1416 (4:47): U let any of these guys fuck U? Figured you'd be doing all the fucking.  
HeyMickey1416 (4:55): Fuck it's killing me thinking that U bend over for some of these dudes.  
HeyMickey1416 (4:56): Or anyone else...  
9MMGlock (5:36): Remember u told me that u bottom now 2. Just gotta get ur ass plowed  
sometimes right?  
HeyMickey1416 (5:45): Fuck  
9MMGlock (5:47): Tell me about it.  
HeyMickey1416 (5:50): Nobody has ever or will ever compare to U.  
9MMGlock (5:54): Just gotta keep those blisters off ur hands.  
HeyMickey1416 (6:20): Next person I fuck is gonna be U & ur gonna be the only person I fuck  
for the rest of my life.  
9MMGlock (6:32): Shit ur hands are gonna be wrecked. U should get a FleshJack.  
HeyMickey1416 (6:36): ??  
9MMGlock (6:48) U really gotta learn up on toys.  
HeyMickey1416 (6:52): U ruined me for everything & every1. Ur fat juicy ass is all I think about.  
HeyMickey1416 (6:55): Fuck I'm hard as a rock just thinking about biting into that bubble butt.  
9MMGlock (6:56): Yeah?  
HeyMickey1416 (7:02): Yeah. Thinking about how good it devours my cock. Pulls it right in.  
Love watching it sink in to u.  
9MMGlock (7:05): I bet u do.  
HeyMickey1416 (7:11) So nice. When I hit it from behind love watching that ass quake & jiggle.  
Fuck. When I pull out until all that's in u is my head & then slam into u again. U love that. Scream  
so loud.  
9MMGlock (7:14) Fuck off. I don't scream.  
HeyMickey1416 (7:14): HAHAHAHA. Funny guy.  
9MMGlock (7:16): (Middle Finger Emoji)  
HeyMickey1416 (7:20): Remember how I hit ur spot every time I shove it in. U fucking love it.  
Can't get enough of u begging for me to keep railing u. My fucking bossy bottom.  
9MMGlock (7:24): Don't know who ur thinking of but I don't beg.  
HeyMickey1416 (7:25): HAHAHAHA!!! When did u get so fucking hilarious?  
9MMGlock (7:26): (Middle Finger Emoji)  
HeyMickey1416 (7:28) Know what I love the most?  
9MMGlock (7:36) Talkin about urself?  
HeyMickey1416 (7:40) Maybe u are funny LOL  
9MMGlock (7:44) Gotta put Yev to bed. U gonna tell me or what?  
HeyMickey1416 (7:44) Message me when ur done.  
9MMGlock (7:44) K  
9MMGlock (8:23) So what do u love the most?  
HeyMickey1416 (8:31) Other than u?  
9MMGlock (8:33) (middle finger emoji)  
HeyMickey1416 (8:34) Love getting really rough with u. Grab you around the neck while I'm  
fucking u hard, spanking that ass, drilling u til u cum untouched. FUCK ur hot.  
9MMGlock (8:35) Shit.  
HeyMickey1416 (8:35) U hard?  
9MMGlock (8:35) What do u think?  
HeyMickey1416 (8:36) Want u in my mouth.  
9MMGlock (8:38): What else do u want?  
HeyMickey1416 (8:40): Love when u bounce on my cock & I can watch ur cock jump. Fuck love  
that. Love watching ur body when u ride me. Love the way u bite ur lip & moan as you fill urself  
up with my cock.  
9MMGlock (8:42): Love riding u.  
HeyMickey1416 (8:42) How bout I cum over & u show me how much u love it.  
HeyMickey1416 (8:50) Hello?  
HeyMickey1416 (8:55) I'm coming over. U better message me back if u don't want me to.  
HeyMickey1416 (9:15) I'm on my way.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Want

Mickey knew he should've told Ian not to come, should've had the fucking wherewithal to type  
'no' or 'don't,' simple words that seemed difficult to say. Ian was too far gone and he was close  
behind him; teetering over the edge of the cliff with just a small push needed to have him falling  
no looking back. He could feel himself getting really fucking anxious, his heartbeat pounding in  
his ears, hands shaking. He stood up from where he'd been sitting on the edge of the bed, unsure if  
standing was better or if he should try to sit down again. His want had him crawling out of his  
skin, while his mind feebly attempted to hold on to some semblance of control. He started pacing,  
trying to expel some of the nervous energy, trying to find some relief, knowing there was only one  
way it was going to be released. His emotions were intensifying with every step he took, back and  
forth, back and forth, until his phone rang. He paused and stared at it as if it was a relentless  
temptress, an irresistible siren song. Instead of answering, he made his way to the front door and  
swung it open to find Ian on his porch, phone by his ear.

"Was afraid you weren't gonna answer," He said shoving his phone into his back pocket and  
walking towards a still wordless Mickey.

Without warning, Mickey grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pushed him hard against the  
wall in the entryway, kicking the door shut behind him. Ian panted, eyes wide with astonishment,  
waiting. Not loosening his grip, Mickey shook his head, licked his top teeth and sighed, painfully  
aware that his last sliver of resistance was tearing away, "Can't fucking take it anymore" and with  
that he smashed his lips against Ian's, his tongue desperately chasing the redhead's around his  
mouth, catching it and then fighting for dominance. The kiss was as angry as it was amorous, with  
Mickey admonishing himself for his lack of restraint, feeling his power wane with every rotation  
of their tongues, "Fuck you, Gallagher," He muttered against Ian's lips, 'for making me want you,  
making me love you, making me weak' he left unsaid.

His breath hitched as Ian swung him around into the back of the door so he could lead the kiss,  
"Gonna fuck you," he assured him wantonly, his teeth pulling on Mickey's bottom lip, "hard." Ian  
slid his tongue heavy into the brunet's mouth as he rutted the bulge in his pants against Mickey's.  
A soft moan escaped Mickey's mouth and Ian swallowed it down eagerly, using it as  
encouragement to kiss him more fervently.

"Stop," Mickey sighed, still returning Ian's kisses just as lustfully despite his words.  
Ian's heart sank to his toes as he moved his lips down to Mickey's neck, focusing on his sweet spot  
while a panicked, "Please... please, don't do this, Mick," escaped his mouth.

"Not gonna fuck out here," Mickey said, moaning at the sensation of Ian sucking a mark into his  
skin. A broad smile pulled across the redhead's face as he stood up straight and hooked his fingers  
into Mickey's rear belt loops, continuing to kiss whatever skin he could manage to reach while  
following Mickey to his room.

As soon as Mickey locked the door, he dropped to his knees and started to unbuckle Ian's belt,  
"No, no," Ian protested, while Mickey yanked down his jeans and boxers, "Want to take care of  
you," but his mouth shut tight as Mickey's opened wide, drawing him in, "Mmmm."

"Fuck I missed this cock," Mickey exhaled, as his tongue lapped lecherously at the slit, causing  
Ian's knees to wobble. He tangled his fingers into raven tresses to steady himself and watched with  
hooded eyes as Mickey licked him like a dripping ice cream cone, determined not to waste a drop.  
The heat of the sultry mouth surrounding him and the constriction of being taken down his throat  
caused Ian to melt, knocking Mickey's mouth off of him so he could get to the floor, his legs  
shaking as he laid back against the scratchy carpet.

"Really?" Mickey laughed, biting his lip mischievously, "Fucking drama queen."

"You know you kill me every time and you fucking love it," Ian said, resting his hands behind his  
head and grinning at Mickey, "You were made to suck dick, I swear."

"Old man would be so proud," Mickey snarked crawling up Ian's legs so he could bring him back  
into his mouth.

"Should send that piece of shit a picture of your pretty lips stretched around my cock, give him a  
heart attack," Ian mused lifting his hips a bit so he could shove himself further down the willing  
throat and smiling when he heard the sound of Mickey laughing around dick. His smile morphed  
into an 'O' as Mickey rubbed his nose against his public hair, "Holy fuck..." he gasped, "love how  
you can take it all." Turned on by how wrecked Ian's voice sounded and how weighty he felt in  
his mouth, Mickey went to work. He began bobbing his mouth up and down, sliding to the base  
and then back up to the head, where he swirled his tongue around before sinking to the base  
again, over and over until Ian's breath shortened noticeably and he frantically tapped his head,  
"Stop, fuck... fuck gonna cum."

Mickey pulled off of him, his lips puffy and dick-worn. He gazed at the beads of precum that were  
collecting on the tip of Ian's cock and leaned back in to tongue at the sticky substance salaciously,  
making sure the redhead could see how it stretched in long rivulets from his dick to his tongue,

"Shit you're nasty," Ian bit his lip as he watched Mickey do it again, "You love it."

"Really fucking do," Mickey confirmed, standing up and making his way over to his underwear  
drawer so he could grab his lube.

"Gonna eat you open," Ian said climbing onto the bed and laying down, "Come sit on my face."

"Ain't doin' that," Mickey clicked his tongue and thumbed at the side of his nostril with his  
knuckle.

"The fuck you aren't," Ian disagreed, raising his arms up and waving Mickey over, "You shy  
now, Mick? Hmm?" he lifted eyebrows in challenge, "Bring me the ass."

"Fucking asshole," Mickey groused, joining Ian on the bed.

"Bout to eat that asshole," He teased with a smirk, "Been a while, huh? Don't let those Grindr  
fucks rim you?" He grasped Mickey's hips, fingers digging into the bones, and pulled him on top  
of him so he was sitting on his chest facing his feet, "Inch up," he prompted. Mickey obliged  
scooting up and resting his knees on either side of Ian's ears, using his strong thigh muscles to  
support his weight and hover over Ian's face. The redhead lifted his neck so he could lay a long  
thick lick up Mickey's crack.

"Fuck," Mickey muttered, sighing as Ian kissed at nibbled his ass cheeks before licking him again.

"Such a perfect ass, Mick. Got the hottest fucking ass," Ian complimented, drawing a grunt out of  
Mickey when he laid a smack on the pale skin. He watched as it immediately bloomed pink and  
massaged the area before spanking him again. Mickey groaned at both the sensation and the fact  
that he could see Ian's dick twitch from the noises he was making, "Spread those cheeks," he  
directed, prompting Mickey to put his hands on either side of his crack and pull himself apart,

"C'mon, baby, sit down," he urged, moaning contentedly when he did.  
Ian teased his hole with the tip of his tongue, flicking it a few times before licking fat circles  
around the muscular ring. He lapped and swirled, causing the tight muscles to twitch and loosen  
with pleasure. Moving his chin from side to side, his cheeks knocked against Mickey's as he  
burrowed his face in deeper. The brunet moaned when Ian's tongue breeched his hole, then pulled  
back out again to circle, sloppy and wet. He continued the pattern plunging further each time,  
narrowing then rotating his tongue inside of Mickey as he loosened him. When he fucked into his  
hole, Mickey's body trembled. "Holy fucking shit," he cried as Ian expertly opened him. The  
redhead continued to eat him like he was starving and Mickey unapologetically whined and  
moaned, squirming at the sensation. Ian was relentless; licking, pressing and making him gasp at  
each pass. Mickey fell down slightly so he could rest his good arm on Ian's stomach, mouth  
watering as he stared at the red, straining cock standing proudly in front of him. As he cursed his  
shoulder for being too fucked up to support his weight thus keeping him from devouring Ian's  
cock, he felt hands fumble to his chest. He keened as Ian pinched his nipples, the sensitivity  
shooting shock waves through his body. "Need to ride your cock," Mickey stated, voice broken,  
reflecting how overwhelmed he was watching Ian's dick leak while getting eaten and tweaked.  
Ian grunted from the loss as Mickey pulled his ass away and moved down to hastily position  
himself over his cock.

"Goddamn you're destroyed," Mickey commented, taking in Ian's wet, irritated chin and blown  
out eyes.

"Fuck me up more," Ian challenged, jutting his hips up so his dick could press against Mickey's  
ass cheek. The brunet smirked as he lined Ian's cock up to his hole and gradually sunk down on it,  
allowing his body to expand to accommodate his impressive girth. Ian was a mess through his  
descent, throwing his head back and biting his lower lip until it bled, "You have no idea how  
fucking good you feel."

Mickey hummed as he shimmied himself down until his cheeks were resting on Ian's thighs. He  
paused for a moment to relish the feeling of being so fucking full. Nobody could fill him up like  
Ian could and it was fucking perfect.

Mickey began rolling his hips at a painstakingly slow pace making sure that Ian could feel every  
inch of his dick moving in and out of his ass. He leaned forward so just the head Ian's cock  
remained him, before arching back again to become fully seated. He kept leaning then arching,  
leaning then arching until Ian was coming apart underneath of him.

"Just like that... fuck, ride that cock," Ian groaned, sounding completely shattered. His head fell  
down to the pillow, eyes closed in ecstasy. He forced himself to lean back on his elbows so he  
could watch as Mickey's thigh muscles flexed with every movement, "Shit, you look so good,  
Mick."

"Like that?" He asked, biting his lower lip while a small smirk played on the corner of his mouth.  
He dropped his hand down to his hard cock making a show of stroking himself as he continued to  
ride Ian.

"Fucking love it," Ian confirmed, "C'mere," he waved Mickey down towards his face. The brunet  
leaned on his good arm, hunching over so he could connect his lips with Ian's, loving the feeling  
of the redhead sucking on his tongue while his cock stretched his insides. Their kissing grew  
frenzied, cueing Mickey to peel off, sit up straight, and give Ian the ride of his life. He bounced on  
his cock at a gradually building speed, each increase in pace causing Ian to moan louder and  
become more undone, "Fuck, get it, baby." The sounds coming out of his mouth reverberated as  
Mickey rocked him, his body glistening, dick bobbing in the air, "Hot as hell."

"Close," was all Mickey could say, too focused on the angle he was titling his hips at making sure  
his prostate was hit with every dip to worry about words.

"Not like this," Ian asserted, sitting up and gripping Mickey's ass hard so that he could carry him  
off the bed, "Gotta fuck you,"

Instinctively Mickey wrapped his legs around his waist and gasped when Ian slammed his back  
against the wall, still deeply seated inside of him, "Watch the injured shoulder," Mickey chided,  
forgetting all about the complaint as Ian pulsed shallowly inside him. He dropped his head so that  
his lips were resting on Ian's bare shoulder as the redhead bent his knees slightly so he could ram  
deeper into his ass.

"Oh... oh, holy shit, Ian. Fuck me," Mickey coaxed as Ian found his rhythm and snapped his hips  
into him harder. He dug his fingers into his shoulder blades and groaned with every thrust.

"Gonna cum for me?" Ian asked breathlessly pushing back harder against Mickey's hips so he  
could continue to drive into him mercilessly. He could feel sweat beading on his skin from the  
exertion.

"Always make me cum so good," Mickey assured him, grunting as Ian kept pounding. For a  
fleeting moment he worried about the noises they were making, but his concern was abated by the  
fact that he was getting the fucking of his life. His cock was rubbing against Ian's insanely  
chiseled abs and he was pretty sure that he wouldn't last much longer.

Ian started to deliver measured jabs to Mickey's prostate, while kissing him hard. The assault on  
his senses had Mickey sputtering moans into Ian's mouth, "Cum for me," Ian crooned, knowing  
from years of experience with Mickey's body that he was close.

"Fill me up, baby. Need to feel you shoot inside me," Mickey pleaded, dropping his lips off of  
Ian's and biting into his shoulder.

"Yeah?" Ian grunted.

"Mmm, give it to me."

It took two more thrusts until Ian was emptying into him with a cry, shaking through aftershocks  
as Mickey shot his load onto both of their stomachs. As gingerly as possible, Ian removed himself  
from Mickey watching as cum steamed out of his ass and down his legs. He dropped to the  
ground, reaching for Mickey's T-shirt that had been discarded hours earlier, and attempted to clean  
Mickey up. Still standing, Mickey watched Ian tending to him from his knees and found himself  
becoming overwhelmed with emotion. He wasn't a fucking crier and be most definitely wasn't  
going to fucking cry after sex. Though he'd just had a mind-blowing orgasm he felt stress begin to  
bubble up in his body. He hated that something as simple as sex could flood him with so many  
feelings. It was exactly what he feared would happen if he let himself go. He wasn't looking at the  
man who was carefully wiping him up as guilty or dangerous. All he could see was Ian Gallagher.  
His Ian Gallagher, who he'd loved for as long as he could remember. He saw the driven freckle  
faced kid and the built, stubborn man. He saw their past and their future, his life revolving around  
the only man he'd ever loved, could ever love.

"What is it?" Ian asked softly, noticing the turmoil on Mickey's face.

Mickey swallowed hard and closed his eyes, "You have to go."

"Wait.. what?" Ian asked confused, dropping the shirt but remaining on his knees, gazing up at  
Mickey, the sated feeling he had moments ago, dissipating rapidly.

"You gotta go. Got what I wanted, ok? Gotta go," Mickey said, pressing the heels of his hands  
against his eyes, struggling to hold in his emotion.

"Mickey," Ian's voice cracked, "Don't do this, don't push me away. We've done this before," he  
was pleading, breaking.

"I told you not to expect too much," Mickey reminded him with a sniff, "Ain't my fault that you  
did."

"Please..."

"You need to go," Mickey repeated, dripping with ice.

Ian wiped his stomach off with the T-shirt and threw it at Mickey's face as tears streamed down  
his own, "You know what," he said his chest heaving with emotion, "Fuck you." He pulled on his  
boxers, then his pants and his shirt, turning to face Mickey his face red as a beet, "I fucked up, ok?  
Bad. I'm not denying that, but I also can't deny that I fucking love you. I love you and you love  
me, even if you don't want to. Even if you hate that you do." Ian got in his face, his short breaths  
puffing against Mickey's skin, "I don't know how else to say I'm sorry." He violently wiped away  
the tears that were steaming down cheeks, "I don't know."

He grabbed his jacket and looked over his shoulder before he opened the door, hoping that  
Mickey would stop him, tell him not to go. Instead, he stood there staring at the floor, unable to lift  
his head up.

"Fine," Ian shot as he exited the room, missing the way Mickey crumpled to the ground, head in  
his hands, a well of tears finding their release as soon as his feet had hit the threshold.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Twenty-Four: Shades & Shadows

He opened his burning eyes unsure of when he’d closed them. Rolling to his side with a groan, he  
let his cheek rest against the damp pillowcase. He had to get up, go to work, function like his heart  
wasn’t decimated. He couldn’t get the look on Ian’s face out of his head, the pain in his eyes, the  
quivering of his lip. Knowing it was futile action he reached for his phone, unsurprised when he  
didn’t see a notification on the screen. He considered texting him, but was unsure of what he  
would say, afraid he’d said enough. He wanted to tell him that he was still hurting, that he loved  
him, that he was really fucking scared, but he couldn’t bring himself to type the words, so instead  
he climbed out of bed and stretched his sore body. Though his shoulder had been improving, it  
was achy as hell after being fucked into the wall. Amid the flood of emotions that had crashed  
down on him, he hadn’t allowed himself to think of the sex they never should’ve fucking had.  
Shit, it was good, but that had never been their problem after all; fucking way easy, it was  
everything else that was difficult. Still, the delicious dull ache in his ass started a reel of debauched  
memories from the night before that caused his dick to fill, while he cursed it for being so  
goddamn merciless. He adjusted himself and headed out to the kitchen.

Zev was leaning on the counter, eating a bagel, watching Mickey as he moved past him in silence  
to open the refrigerator, pull out the orange juice and chug from the carton, “You had fun last  
night,” He commented with a grin, the banging against the shared wall with Mandy a dead  
giveaway of what had occurred. Mickey paused for a moment as if he was debating whether he  
should respond or not, but instead of opening his mouth, he opted to close the juice and put it  
away, allowing the cool air of the refrigerator to give his baby blues some relief. “No snarky  
response? No ‘fuck you’ finger?” Zev questioned, standing up straight, growing more serious,

“Mickey?” The shorter man looked up at him, his eyes as red as the blood that was running cold  
through his veins, “Mickey,” he whispered, his voice now tender, sad. He knew those eyes,  
recognized the despondency on his face, “It was Ian you were with,” he stated taking a deep  
breath and resting a hand on Mickey’s shoulder only to have it shrugged off immediately, “What  
did he do?” his tone grew angrier, more demanding, “What did he do, Mick?”

Mickey shook his head, worried if he opened his mouth he would lose the tears that he was  
desperately holding back, “He didn’t do shit,” he managed, rubbing his forehead with his palm,  
“not this time.”

Zev nodded and let out a sigh as he reclined again, “You hate that you love him so much and hate  
that you cannot hate him even after all he has done,” he stated, taking a bite of his bagel before  
continuing with his mouth half-full “hate that you are scared that he will never love you enough  
and terrified that you cannot love him enough for the both of you. Sound right?”

“Sounds about right,” Mickey confirmed rubbing his knuckle against his nose and looking down  
at the cracked tile floor, “So what do I do then, almighty sage of Israel?”

“Hate rots you from the inside, but love… love sets you free,” Zev said simply, “I cannot tell you  
what to do, just consider which will give you life- your hate or your love.” He shook his head,

“Cannot stand this man, I cannot, but you cannot stand to live without him and THAT fills me  
with hate.”

“What if he does it again? Fucks me up again?” Mickey asked his voice barely audible.

Zev moved closer to him so that he could look down at his face, jaw clenched, “Then you fucking  
survive, just like you always have.” Tears welled in his eyes as he watched Mickey fight his, “and  
you have me.” Mickey sniffed as Zev attempted to wrap him up fully in his arms.

“Fuck, I’m not drunk enough for that,” He said shoving the bigger man away with a wet laugh.

“You are drunk at all? It is 7:00am.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, “You know what I fucking mean.”

Zev shrugged and watched as Mickey made his way towards the bathroom, “Mikhailo…” he  
called, causing Mickey to turn back and look at him expectantly, “Maybe you can love enough for  
the both of you.” Mickey looked at him wordlessly before dipping his head, licking his lips, and  
going to get ready.

The work day was brutal with Mickey catching himself looking at his phone obsessively. His  
assignments weren’t nearly engaging enough to get his mind off of Ian, off of what happened, not  
that he was sure he wanted to. When he opened Grindr, around noon, and saw messages from  
tens of men, none of them Ian, he felt a sick churning in his stomach. If it wasn’t these dudes, it  
would be others and just like the men in Mexico none of them would ever mean shit to him, not  
like Ian did. He could fight it, deny it, try to ignore it, but Ian was the only man for him, the only  
man he’d ever loved, would ever love. Even when he’d tried to force himself in prison, in Mexico,  
he could never picture his life without him. It was as if he’d known that they’d find each other  
again, be right back where they started, one hiding their love while the other fought to draw it out.

Mickey burned for the redheaded idiot and if all that was left in the end was scorched Earth, he  
couldn’t deny his desire to let his old flame consume him like the wildfire he was. Though he  
could find himself scarred by blaze as he had been so many times before, Ian was worth the risk.  
He’d never been a pussy and he wasn’t going to start to be one now; loving who he loved didn’t  
make him a bitch. He opened his conversation with Ian and sent him a text:

-Need to talk to U-

And he spent the next 8 hours waiting for a reply that never came. After putting Yevgeny to bed,  
he bundled himself up in his outerwear and made his way to the Gallagher house. He was  
disappointed when it was Fiona who opened the door, “Ian here?”

“Hi Mickey. How’re you doing?” She asked sarcastically, put off by his gruff greeting.

“He here?” He asked shifting his weight uncomfortably.

“He’s not feeling well,” Fiona responded, gnawing at the inside of her cheek.

“What d’you mean not feeling well?” Mickey pressed, a feeling of panic pushing down on his  
chest, “He got a cold or…” He was hoping she’d say ‘yes.’ The flu, a virus, a goddamn hernia  
from holding him up the night before, he didn’t give a shit, he didn’t want it to be what he feared it  
was.

“I’ll tell him to call you tomorrow, ok? He just needs to rest.”

Mickey nodded, debating whether he should push past her and run up the familiar staircase to see  
him, but decided against it. Maybe Ian had told her not to let him in. He couldn’t blame him for  
being pissed and hurt by the shit he’d said.

Just as he was set to leave, he heard Lip call out, "Mickey." He glanced over his shoulder to find  
him standing behind Fiona, a worried look on his face, "We can't get him outta bed."

He bounded up the steps taking them by twos and ran to the threshold of Ian's bedroom door.  
Panting from both the exertion and worry, he stood staring at the lump in the bed, completely  
shroud in blankets. Ian had caused him immense pain but seeing him suffer in the battle against his  
mind was the worst heartache of all. As he walked into the room he heard Fiona and Lip fighting  
quietly behind him.

"Things between them are complicated and he's fucking low right now. You really think that was  
a good idea?" Fiona whispered harshly, either not realizing or not caring that Mickey could hear  
every word. He didn't give a fuck what anyone thought. He'd taken Ian to his doctor's  
appointments, asked questions, sought information, studied up. He knew how the disorder  
worked. The emotions of the night before had accelerated a swing that Ian had already been  
cycling down to.

"This shit happens," Lip retorted quietly, "Don't pretend like you don't fucking know how it  
works."

Mickey kneeled at his bedside and lifted the comforter so it was tented over both of their faces,

"Hey."

Ian barely opened his bleary eyes and mumbled an almost inaudible, "Fuck you"

"Sounds about right," Mickey said softly, reaching up so he could intertwine his fingers with Ian's,  
pulling his hand to his lips and laying a gentle kiss on his knuckle.

"Fuck off," Ian rasped attempting to yank his hand away, but giving up when he realized it would  
take more energy than he was willing to exert.

"Not gonna happen," Mickey stated plainly. He could hear Fiona and Lip still hissing back and  
forth at each other. Moving his head from under the comforter he snapped, "If your gonna stand  
there and talk about stupid shit, close the fucking door. He don't need to hear it."

Fiona stared at him flabbergasted and Lip gave him a small grin, knowing he made the right  
decision in bringing Mickey in, "You gonna stick around Mick?"

"The fuck d'you think?" Mickey spat back, narrowing his eyes as if it was the stupidest question  
he'd ever been asked.

"I'll tell Carl and Liam we're gonna crash in the living room," Lip said trying not to let the awe he  
felt when he saw how much the asshole loved his brother show, "Let us know if you need  
anything. You gonna go to work tomorrow or..."

"Gonna get him to the doctor," Mickey replied matter-of-factly, "Does he go to the clinic or does  
he got some kinda health insurance doctor now?"

"He has a psychiatrist with her own practice," Fiona informed him, face softening, "I'll put her  
contact information on the kitchen counter, ok?"

Mickey nodded, "Now close the fuckin' door." He waited until he heard it shut to pick the  
comforter back up, "Gotta get behind you, still can't lay on the fucked up shoulder," He said,  
unbuckling his jeans and letting them fall to the floor. He climbed over the near lifeless body and  
pressed his chest flank against Ian's back, wrapping his arm protectively around his chest, while  
interlacing their legs.

For hours, Mickey focused on the soft inhale and exhale of Ian's breath as he slept, too shaken to  
drift off himself. Needing to stretch out his shoulder, he reluctantly let go of the body he'd molded  
himself to and got up from the bed. He drew a slight huff from Ian when he moved the curtain a  
bit so he could let the moonlight softly illuminate the room, "Sorry, gotta find my phone. Have to  
let Svet know I'm not gonna be home in the morning." He fumbled around the floor, unable to  
find his pants amid the mess of clothes that were strewn about. He sighed, "Now you're really  
gonna be pissed," he said turning on the lamp on Ian's bedside table, unsurprised when the  
redhead didn't acknowledge the action. In the light, he easily located his pants and grabbed his  
phone out of them so he could shoot off the text to Svetlana. 

He was about to shut off the lamp when a pile of books and papers laying beside the nightstand caught his eye.   
He sat down on the floor so he could get a closer look and felt his heart begin to pound in his chest at what he saw:   
A Spanish text book and workbook which had the first several pages complete, a tuition bill for  
Malcolm X with Spanish 122 listed as the course, a copy of Ian's medical records translated to  
Spanish, a list of Psychiatrists in Oaxaca with their addresses and phone numbers, a Spanish  
anatomy book, and a ton of random papers about emigrating to Mexico, "Holy fuck," Mickey  
muttered, the pages waving in his hands from the intense shaking he was doing.

Once he was able to partially calm himself, he turned off the light and got back into the bed. He  
grasped Ian's hip and tugged on it gently, prompting him groan and turn over on his side so he  
was facing Mickey. The redhead sleepily opened his eyes and grumbled an aggravated, "What?"

"Mexico?" He asked, his voice trembling, not needing to clarify any further.

"Mexico," Ian confirmed faintly.

Mickey felt tears begin to sting his already irritated eyes as he pushed Ian's hair off of his face and  
laid a tender kiss on his forehead. He rubbed his nose against Ian's, before tilting his head so he  
could sweetly slot their mouths together. He tried not to be upset when Ian didn't kiss him back,  
instead he concentrated on moving down to his neck so he could kiss each of the hickies he'd left  
the night before.

"Quiero ser mejor para ti," Ian said slowly in a hushed voice, as Mickey's warm breath fanned  
over him.

"The fucks that mean?" Mickey asked pressing his lips against Ian's again.

"I want to be better to you," Ian uttered letting his heavy eyelids close again, not hearing the "I  
love you" that Mickey had told him back.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Fog

The rain tapping on the window lifted Mickey's eyelids and drew a yawn from his mouth. He had  
slept like shit, wanting to be mindful of any of Ian's soft noises or slight movements. Their bodies  
were melted into each other, a pale white puddle covering the small bed. Mickey cupped his hand  
on Ian's cheek and pressed his lips against his pout. Green eyes fluttered open at the connection,  
gazing at Mickey with both wonder and confusion, "Why?" Ian asked softly.

"Because I love your dumbass," Mickey whispered ducking in for another kiss, his heart beating  
out of his chest as Ian slowly reciprocated, an action he hadn't been able to muster the night  
before. As their tongues lazily tangled, Mickey could taste the salt of the tears that had begun to  
pour down Ian's face, "Hey, hey," he said softly, peeling his lips away so he could wipe the  
droplets from the redhead's cheeks.

"Don't know what I feel," Ian muttered, staring through Mickey.

"That's alright," He responded, seeing the storminess and tumult in his eyes. He swallowed down  
his need for validation, knowing Ian wasn't able to give it, not while his mind was dark and his  
thoughts grey. There was a deluge of emotion just below the surface that Ian would be able to tap  
into eventually, "Gonna go make you toast or some shit. You gotta take your pills and if you don't  
eat you're gonna get the runs."

"No, just..." he closed his eyes and reached for Mickey's hand, nuzzling his face into the nook  
between Mickey's peck and the bed, "stay."

Mickey's hand enmeshed in red hair, soothingly massaging his lover's scalp, the tender touch  
causing Ian to let out a contented sigh into the brunet's skin. He continued the action until Ian's  
breath fell into the rhythmic pattern of sleep. He wanted to remain in the bed with him, hold him,  
never let him lay like this without his arms wrapped around him, but he knew that it wasn't  
realistic. He needed to get in touch with Ian's doctor, call out of work, and make sure that Svetlana  
could figure out coverage for Yevgeny until Ian got back on track. As carefully as possible, he  
disentangled himself from Ian and climbed out of bed. While picking his cellphone up off of the  
bedside table, he couldn't help but let his eyes drift to Ian's plans, his devotion. He still couldn't  
believe all the effort he'd put into something he didn't know would ever happen. After putting on  
his jeans and sweater, he headed downstairs to the Gallagher's kitchen, aggravated to see Fiona  
standing by the sink drinking her coffee.

"How is he?" She asked pouring a mug for Mickey and holding it out for him.

He reluctantly accepted, taking a sip and sputtering, "Fuck, that's nasty."

"Reused the grounds," She said with a shrug, "You get used to it."

Mickey grunted and chugged a bit more down, head shaking at the bitterness. It was going to be a  
long day and he knew he'd need the help of caffeine.

"How is he?" She repeated.

Mickey clicked his tongue and shook his head, "Seen him worse I guess."

"That's good," Fiona replied as if she was trying to convince herself, "So the DEA, huh? Never  
thought I'd see Mickey Milkovich becoming the law."

"Yeah well, I bet you never thought you'd see a lotta things," He said coolly, wishing he could  
drink his shitty coffee in peace.

Fiona nodded well aware of the implication, "Called Ian's shrink and she squeezed him in at 3:30  
for a med adjustment. You want me to take him or..."

"I'll get him there," Mickey stated, interrupting her, "You got bread for toast. Gotta make him  
something."

Fiona quickly scrambled to pop the Wonder Bread in toaster all the while rambling about how  
important it was for Ian to be on time for his doctor's appointment since Dr. Wenn was booked  
solid that day.

"Not gonna be late," He huffed, crinkling up his nose in annoyance.

"Alright. All her information is here," She said sliding a paper to him before turning around to  
butter the toast, "and my numbers on there, too, if you need me."

"Ain't my first time taking care of him," Mickey reminded, brushing past her so he could pull the  
familiar pills out of the medicine cabinet. He searched around before asking, "Where's the B  
multi?"

"Ummm," Fiona positioned herself next to him, picking up a few bottles glancing at the labels,  
"Not sure he's taking it..."

"Fuck," He mumbled, rubbing his index finger over his eyebrow. The doctor at the clinic has told  
him over three years ago that Ian should be taking the stupid fucking B vitamins, but clearly  
nobody was following the recommendations that closely. He dropped the prescription bottles into  
his pocket, filled up a glass with water, took the toast and wordlessly headed back up to the  
bedroom. He set Ian's breakfast down so he could step out in the hallway and call Svetlana, who  
was surprisingly understanding and Zev, who was massively confused, "Ask Mandy," was all he  
could say, not able to muster the energy to go into an explanation of Bipolar. He killed some time  
looking through Ian's textbook and brushing up on his awful Spanish, before deciding he had to  
get Ian up.

"Hey Sleepyhead," He said kneeling next to the bed and laying a kiss on Ian's forehead, "Got  
your toast." Ian grunted his protest and tried to turn over, but Mickey held onto his shoulder to  
prevent the rejection, "C'mon."

He opened his eyes to glare at Mickey and then reluctantly sat up at the edge of the bed, resting  
his head in hands for a moment to stop the spinning.

"See, sleeping that long'll fuck you up too," Mickey stood up to ruffle his hair and hand him the  
toast. Ian stared down at the plate as if Mickey had literally handed him a pile of dog shit.  
Nonplussed, Mickey poured out Ian's pills and placed them in his hand. Ian threw them in his  
mouth and dutifully took a sip of water to swallow them down. Aware that Mickey's eyes were  
fixed on him, he nibbled on the toast, "More," Mickey directed, ignoring the dirty look that Ian  
shot him before taking another bite.

"Too far away," Ian said quietly, looking through his eyelashes at the man hovering above him.

"That right?" Mickey asked with a half grin, well aware that this was Ian's way of getting him out  
of his face, but not giving a shit what the motivation was, just wanting to hold him.

He got behind Ian letting his legs hang on either side of his and wrapped his arms loosely around  
his waist. Resting his chin on the redhead's shoulder, he sporadically peppered the skin with  
kisses. Ian forced one more bite before placing the plate on the bedside table, garnering a huff  
from Mickey, "Really?"

Ian sighed, hunching forward to bury his face in his arms, folding in on himself, "Fuck off,  
alright?"

Mickey removed one of his arms from Ian's waist but pulled him in tighter with the other. With his  
free hand he began to rub and scratch Ian's back. He let out a sigh of appreciation and allowed  
Mickey to continue without complaint.

"You want this? Want your life to be like this?" Ian asked his voice stifled by both his limbs and  
emotions.

"This shit don't scare me, Gallagher," He replied simply, "You running..." he paused to sniff and  
gnaw at the inside of his cheek for a moment before continuing, "that's the shit that scares me.  
This I can deal with-just don't wanna chase after your stupid ass for my whole life."

Ian lifted his head and twisted his chin so he could get a look at Mickey's face, "What if I chase  
you instead?"

Mickey shook his head, "I ain't running." He craned his neck to kiss Ian, but the redhead's lips  
were gone before he could.

"Sorry," Ian whispered softly pushing his hair out of his face.

Mickey stopped rubbing his back and let his hold drop, "Touched out?"

Ian hummed his confirmation. He vacillated between needing to be held to feel grounded, safe,  
and loved to feeling smothered and overwhelmed. He reached for the cigarettes on his nightstand,  
tapped two out and handed one over his shoulder to Mickey. When he turned to light it he let his  
eyes linger in Mickey pale blues, "I really love you," he told him flicking the Bic and waving the  
flame over the cigarette.

Mickey nodded and watched as Ian lit his own, talking a long drag and blowing the smoke out.  
His eyes followed the exhale entranced by how billowed, then snaked up to the ceiling. They sat  
in a comfortable silence smoking their cigarettes, legs still touching but their trunks apart.

"What would it be like?" Ian asked, his voice small, but loud enough to break the quiet.

"Hmm?"

"Mexico. What would it be like?" Ian clarified, twisting so he could see the brunet's face, "If we  
lived there."

"Um," He moved from behind Ian to the head of the bed, so he could lean his back against the  
wall and have an easier time seeing him, "Sunny," he began, "It'd be sunny most of the time and  
warm, but not fucking nasty like it is here in the summer. There's always a breeze down by the  
water. We'd get a little place right on the beach, step out our door and have our feet in the sand."

"Yeah?" Ian asked, his eyebrows raised a bit, "That expensive? To rent a place like that?"  
Mickey shrugged his shoulder, "I make pretty good money," He rubbed his palm against his  
cheek, uncomfortable with the look of awe he was getting from Ian, "Wouldn't have to worry bout  
that."

"Think you'd be able to keep your job?" He asked, taking a drag.

"Yeah, uh, they got agents down there. Hard to find people to move, so... it'd be alright," Mickey  
replied, looking at Ian skeptically, "You serious about this shit?"

Ian tilted his head and licked his lips thoughtfully, "What else?"

"Probably lay on the beach a lot. Just watch the clouds move across the sky, the waves crash.  
Relaxing shit. Eat a fuck ton of carne asada from this guy named Jesus' little push cart. That shit's  
best thing I ever put in my mouth," Mickey said a smirk pulling up on his lip, "Other than you."

He saw a trace of laughter in Ian's eyes and a twitch in the corner of his mouth. The redhead  
moved so he could lay his back flank against Mickey's chest, the smaller man's legs hugging either  
side of longer limbs. He draped an arm over Ian's chest protectively, resting his hand on his heart  
while the back of his head Ian's head fell on his uninjured shoulder, "What else?"

"We'd sleep real good. The air's so fresh. Smells like salt, fish and fruit," Mickey informed him,

"Some nights we'd go to this bar that has fucking amazing tequila that Esme makes in her  
backyard and I'd kiss you a lot, so you could taste it cause you ain't gonna fuck around with that  
shit."

"Esme?"

Mickey hummed, "Cousin of carne cart Jesus."

"They nice?" Ian asked with a yawn, his eyelids getting heavy with sleep. He noticed the cigarette  
being plucked from his fingers and listened to Mickey describe their life together as he drifted  
away.

It felt like moments later that Mickey was whispering his name, full lips pressed against his temple,

"What?" He grumbled, his head feeling like it was full of lead.

"Got an appointment with your doctor soon and we gotta get you in the shower cause you fucking  
reek."

"No and no," Ian said, not opening his eyes.

"You're going..."

"Just wanna lay here."

"I know, but you'll lay in the bath instead." He shimmied out from underneath him and groaned as  
he stretched out his stiff limbs, "C'mon, man. Can't fucking carry you. Shoulder's still fucked up."

He grasped onto Ian's hand and gave it a tug, prompting the redhead to open his eyes slowly and  
lift himself from the bed.

They headed into the bathroom, Mickey stopping to pick up towels and washcloths on the way,  
"Bath or shower?" He asked locking the door as Ian pulled off his sweatpants and boxer briefs.

Ian glanced at the filthy tub and replied, "Shower."

Mickey leaned over to turn on the water and started to disrobe, "Gonna jump in with you then."

Ian didn't say anything, just looked at him blankly.

"Let's go," He put his hand on the small of Ian's back and waited for him to climb into the shower  
before following him.

The water pressure was weak but they stood close together so they could both be under the  
stream. Mickey held Ian around his waist and the redhead dropped his head down so it was resting  
on Mickey's shoulder. All that could be heard was the sound of water hitting the basin before  
disappearing down the drain, cleansing them while washing away doubt. Ian raised his lips up so  
they could settle on Mickey's jawline and the brunet let his cheek rest against Ian's, "Was fucking  
fooling myself thinkin' that I didn't need this, didn't need you."

Ian caught his mouth and kissed him firmly, an agreement and promise without words. Pulling  
away a bit, he nudged his nose against Mickey's as playfully as he could muster before kissing  
him again.

"Sorry," Ian murmured when he felt Mickey's erection brush his thigh.

Mickey hushed him and slotted his mouth against Ian's trying not to allow his eyes to gaze at the  
way the water was running down the cuts and angles of his hard body, "Got a mind of its own,"  
he stated once they disconnected. He pushed Ian's hair back out of his face and took in the entirety  
of his face, "Just so fucking beautiful." He licked his lips and signaled for Ian to turn around so he  
could lather soap on a washcloth and scrub his back. Ian let his head fall down between his  
shoulders, allowing rivulets of water to roll off his head and down his face. He thought for a  
moment that he may be crying, vaguely recognizing the sensation in his eyes and wished he could  
feel what he knew he would have if he hadn't taken up residence on a dark cloud, gloomy and  
heavy at dusk.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Gestures

Zev watched as Mickey stretched his neck out, sighing when he couldn’t get enough relief then  
grimacing as he cracked it. He rubbed his shoulder a bit and massaged his lower back, “Old man,  
when do you think you will stop sleeping in a little bed with him?” He asked tapping his thumbs  
on the steering wheel as he waited for the traffic light to turn green.

“When we get a bigger bed,” Mickey said simply, “Don’t matter if I’m at his place or he’s at mine,  
both got small ass beds. I used to have a bigger one until your bitch of a girlfriend stole it.”

“Do not call her a bitch or I will be forced to kick your ass,” Zev warned him, looking at him with  
those big, brown, crazy Israeli eyes. If Mickey wasn’t aware how much the big idiot loved him, he  
may have been slightly nervous at the look he gave him.

Mickey shot him the finger and went back to his adjustments.

“Yevgeny misses you,” Zev said, his tone growing more somber, serious.

“Fuck,” Mickey closed his eyes and rubbed his eyebrows with his fingers, feeling guilty as hell.

For the last two weeks he’d been staying with Ian, thus missing breakfast and most dinners with  
Yevgeny. He’d rush to Ian after work, make sure he was fucking eating something for dinner and  
then hurry to his house to do the bedtime routine with Yev before coming back to Ian. He was  
exhausted as hell. As much as it was a bitch to run back and forth, he knew it was necessary. Not  
being there for Ian wasn’t an option. He didn’t trust Ian’s selfish ass siblings to care for him the  
way he needed to be cared for. Though it would’ve made sense logistically to have Ian stay at the  
Milkovich house, he knew it would have been too big of a change for Ian to undertake while he  
was low, “Ian’s been doing a lot better. Hoping we can start moving his shit over tonight.”

“If he’s doing better why would you need to move his shit over?” Zev asked, giving Mickey a shit  
eating grin.

“Fuck off,” Mickey uttered, unable to hide his own smile.

“You love this man,” Zev stated matter-of-factly.

“That surprise you?” He scoffed, “Thought that shit was pretty obvious.”

“I’m just,” Zev paused to look for words to express his emotions, “I feel like my little babies are  
growing up, becoming men. It makes me emotional.” He kept one hand on the steering wheel  
while putting the other on Mickey’s knee companionably.

“Shit, you’re so fucking weird, man,” Mickey chided, rolling his eyes, “Ian’s your baby now,  
huh? When’d that happen?”

“I am sensing some jealousy, Mikhailo. Did you think that you would always have me to  
yourself?” He questioned, narrowing his eyes, “Like I didn’t have enough love for all of your  
people.”

“You hated him two weeks ago,” Mickey pointed out, taking the carton of cigarettes out of his  
back pocket and lighting one up.

“Not in the car,” Zev groused, “Come on.”

“You’re talking too much,” Mickey reasoned as if that explained why he needed the calming  
effects of nicotine, “Annoying the fuck outta me.”

Zev sighed, “I never hated him. I do not hate.”

Mickey let out a sarcastic hum, “Could’ve swore you said you hated him.”

“Never said this,” Zev denied quickly.

Mickey just rolled his eyes.

“I hated what he did to you. I still don’t like it, but I didn’t know him.”

“You know him now? You two been hanging out? Goin to brunch or some shit?”

“Does he like brunch? You know I make the best Shakshuka. I should make him some soon,”

Zev said, tapping his chin as if he was making a mental note.

“Shakshu….?” Mickey just shook his head and took a long, deep inhale from his cigarette,  
praying that it miraculously gave him the strength to make it through the rest of the conversation.  
“It is eggs in an amazingly delicious, zesty tomato sauce. It is luscious, decadent. He will love it,”  
He explained, moaning through his words.

“I think I’m gonna barf,” Mickey said clearing his throat and swallowing hard.

“I am going to demote you to my fourth favorite baby. Mandy, Yevgeny, Ian and then you. You  
are on the outs. You aggravate me.”

“Feelings mutual,” Mickey assured him. He didn’t want to have to bring it up again, but he was  
too fucking curious not to, “So, how’d Ian make it to number three?”

“Because you’re an asshole and got demoted,” Zev reminded him with a smirk.

“You know what I mean,” He said with a groan, completely unimpressed, “What happened?”

“I did not realize that he had this, how do you say it? Mental illness. From what Mandy tells me,  
he has had this for a while. You never told me,” Zev said frowning, “It makes me feel cold to not  
try to understand him more. I like to help and care for people that need help and care. Like you…  
I like them to be my babies.”

“He don’t need you, he has me. Can’t fucking stand you anyway,” Mickey said narrowing his  
eyes at Zev for a pause longer than it was necessary to get his point across. Once he felt that he’d  
moderately intimidated the man, he looked out the window at the lake as they drove beside it. The  
water inspired a yearning deep inside of him to smell salt of the air again, feel the ocean breeze  
through his hair. He let himself drift away until he was lying on the warm sand, staring up at the  
clear cerulean sky. Instead of being enveloped by his hurt, he was wrapped up in Ian; long,  
sunblock scented limbs draped around his body, sweet lips on his neck. Rolling over to gaze at the  
endless expanse of the sea, he knew that they were going to be infinite, too.

"Earth to Mickey!" Zev said loudly, ripping him out of his reverie, "We're here."

Another day, another stakeout. As badass as being an agent could be somedays, it was mostly  
pretty boring. He spent most of his time watching, waiting, and gathering information. He leaned  
back against the brick wall of the liquor store and pulled his phone out of his pocket.

-u home? Still feeling good?-

While adjusting to his increased dosages of medicine, Ian had been flat and numb, unable to go to  
work because of the nature of his job and generally pretty out of it. Over the last few days, he'd  
been feeling much more himself. Earlier that morning he'd told Mickey that he actually had  
enough energy to go for a run. It scared the shit out of him to think of Ian on his own around the  
city, but he knew that it was better for him to just keep his mouth shut. The motherfucker was  
stubborn as hell.

-Yeah. Just got home. About to jump in the shower. U should cum home and join me (winky)-  
-Hey look who's feeling better-  
-Dick is hard so I think we r back in business-  
-That's ur gauge?-  
-it works... see what I did there?-  
-corny jokes are back? Fuck-  
He was complaining, but he was really fucking happy. Just picturing Ian's smile lighting up his  
face on the other side of the text, filled him with immense relief.  
-More where that came from. Packing my shit up. Figure we can move it over 2night-  
-Yeah?-  
-If that's cool with u-  
-U know it is-  
-Hurry up and get ur ass home-  
-don't jerk it in the shower. Save that shit 4 me-  
-Fine. When u will be home?-  
-Fuck ur needy. 6 or so-  
-I'm gonna die-  
-Go pack dumbass-  
-C U later-

With the prospect of getting laid in the near future hanging over his head, the work day felt like it  
was 36 hours long. By the time, Zev dropped him off at the Gallaghers' just after 6:00pm, he was  
jonesing for it. He ran up the stairs and found Ian sitting on the floor wearing only basketball  
shorts, sorting through papers. When the redhead caught sight of Mickey entering the room he  
gave him a broad smile; a smile that he hadn't seen in so long. It wasn't anxious, cautious or  
fleeting. It was bright, easy, and full of an abundance of joy, "Come here," Ian said, dropping the  
paper in his hand so he could hold up his arms in invitation.

Mickey made his way over and seamlessly slunk into the familiar position of sitting on his lap,  
knees on either side of Ian's hips. Long fingers tilted his chin down so that lips could connect,  
followed by tongues and then breath. The kiss was full of passion and love, lacking the sexual  
heat they had both been feeling earlier in the day. It was a confession as much as a declaration of  
what they needed from each other more than anything else.

"I love you," Ian whispered earnestly into Mickey's mouth.

"I love you, too," Mickey assured him immediately reciprocating the kisses that had now turned  
feverish and hungry. Hands explored the lines of each other's backs, up to the cradle of their heads  
and then down again. They moved in closer to one another, the mere inches between them feeling  
more like miles. Mickey dropped his hand down to stroke Ian's erection over his shorts, desperate  
to get it inside him.

"Wait, wait," Ian panted, pulling away from the kiss, his hands still caressing Mickey's body.

A look of panic crossed over Mickey's face, "What? Fuck's wrong?"

"All my shit's packed and I know Yevvy eats dinner in like a half hour. Was thinking it may be  
good to eat with him, so that he understands that I'll be there at night, in the morning from now  
on," Ian explained tentatively.

Mickey sighed, "Yeah, we probably should." His mind knew the right thing to do, but his body  
really wanted to protest the good decision. He looked down at Ian's eyes, his own full of caution,

"The kid's in love with you, Ian. You and me, we get fucked up sometimes, but we can't do that  
with him. We can't fuck him up with our shit."

"I know," Ian promised, "I'm in this. No doubt. No running. This is it- you, me, Yev. I love you."  
Mickey nodded, knowing that he had no choice but to trust him. If they were going to make it  
work he had to believe that Ian was solid. He couldn't look around the corner for the next issue or  
heartbreak. They had to keep moving forward.

"I never got to do my grand gesture," Ian said tapping Mickey's thigh so he'd climb off of him.

"Fuck, this mean you're gonna do it now?" Mickey griped, watching as Ian reached for a small  
notebook that was tucked under his nightstand, "You were already corny as hell with your gay  
song lyrics, man. What're you doing?"

"Can you shut up and let me be sweet you asshole?" Ian huffed, thumbing through the pages.

"Don't gotta choice do I?"

Ian just looked up from the book and grinned at him, "Alright, so you already know about Mexico  
and Spanish class, all that stuff. But I was going to say these things to you, too...."

"If I don't like them does that mean I call this off?" Mickey interrupted with a smirk.

"Seriously, can you just sit there with your mouth closed for a minute?" Ian asked, his chin jutting  
out, an indisputable indication of his growing aggravation.

Mickey waved him on, deciding not to push it.

"So," He cleared his dramatically.

"If you start singing I'm outta here, Gallagher. I'm not even fucking kidding. You got the worst  
voice. It's a turnoff. Don't do it."

"Fuck you," Ian shot, not able to hold back the laugh that was tumbling around his mouth, "I'm  
not singing. Ok. Here we go," He paused, looking at the book and then at Mickey, "Siento  
haberte hecho daño. Te quiero más de lo que nunca he podido expresar."

Mickey looked at him like he was an alien, "I have no idea what the fuck you're saying. I don't  
speak Spanish. I can curse people out and talk about drugs. That's it."

"I said that I'm sorry I hurt you and that I love you more than I have ever found a way to say to  
you," Ian said.

"So you found a way, but it's in Spanish," Mickey clarified, raising his eyebrows.

"Should I go on?" Ian asked annoyed.

"Mmmhmm," Mickey hummed.

"Por favor déjame follarte."

"That one I know. You can fuck me whenever you want," Mickey said with a grin.

Ian stared at him completely unamused, "Cause of course you would know that one."

Mickey shrugged flicking his eyebrows up at Ian playfully.

"Te amo."

Mickey looked at him blankly.

"I love you."

"I love you, too," Mickey said sincerely, "That it? Nothing like 'Move to Mexico with me and  
have my babies?'"

Ian held up his finger to indicate that he needed a moment. He flipped a few pages, "Quiero  
mudarme a México contigo y que criemos juntos a Yevgeny."

"Hmm?"

"I want to move to México with you and raise Yeygeny together," Ian said softly.

Mickey grew much more serious than he had been previously, the air punched out of his lungs by  
the genuineness, "Let's worry about getting your shit to Zemansky first, then we'll talk about  
Mexico."

"Ok," Ian said licking his lips and leaning over to press them against Mickey's, "So it would've  
worked?"

"What would've worked?" Mickey asked concentrating on the feel of his lips.

"My grand gesture."

"It would've worked," Mickey confirmed, deepening the kiss.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: To Life

“You alright?” Mickey double checked before entering the house. It was far from the first time  
they’d walked through that front door together. Eight years ago they would crash in, cigarettes  
hanging out of their mouths, laughter in their throats, a shared secret binding them together though  
they hadn’t yet realized that their connection would grow much deeper than fucking in freezers or  
dugouts. Summer days spent sneaking into Sox games turned to summer nights laying in the grass  
of a much smaller field, smoking weed and watching the sun fall from the hazy, polluted sky.  
They’d instigate stupid arguments so they could wrestle around the ground, both desperate for  
touch but unsure of how to ask for it. As the seasons changed, so did they; playful shoves gave  
way to candied caresses, kittenish kicks to kisses. Winter came and went, bringing with it  
challenges that neither boy felt prepared to weather. Sometimes, Mickey would uncomfortably  
carry Yevgeny over the threshold, while other times would have him lugging his lanky lover,  
listless and lost. Over the years, they’d walked through that doorway battered and broken, fixing  
each other up only to face the brutal beatings of life again, “Ready?”

Ian nodded, gave him a half-smile and hoisted the duffle holding the contents of his former life up  
higher on his shoulder, “Yes.”

The house was warm and toasty; a reminder that running the heat was no longer a luxury.

“Daddy! Ian!” Yevgeny exclaimed as soon as he saw the two men freeing themselves of their  
jackets and scarves. He padded towards them, the ridiculous puppy slippers on his feet making it  
difficult for him to move as fast as he wanted to.

Mickey scooped his son up in his arms as soon as he made to him, “The fuck are these?” He  
asked with a laugh, gesturing towards the stuffed animals wrapped around Yev’s feet.

“My puppies!” Yev said excitedly, “Zevvy got them for me. He has them, too. We wear them  
when we dance on the Yevvy and Zevvy show.”

“The what now?” Ian asked blinking his eyes disconcertedly, trying to digest the information.

“I missed you,” Yev said reaching out of Mickey’s arms so he could climb into Ian’s. The redhead  
held him close burying his face into the child’s neck and taking a deep inhale.

“Missed you too, buddy,” He whispered, feeling his heart swell in his chest. He’d held Yevgeny  
so many times before, but it was different this time, more settled and permanent. He would  
continue to hold him like this for as long as Yev would let him, knowing that one day the kid  
would become too cool for hugging. When that happened, he’d make up a secret handshake with  
him that only they would know. When he hit his teenage years he’d talk to him about hugging,  
kissing, and fucking boys, girls, or both and shake his hand like two grown men before he went  
on his first date. He’d force a hug on his graduation day, his wedding day, and the day his  
children are born, if he chooses to have them. He couldn’t wait to hug him through every  
milestone in his life.

“Mommy told me that sometimes you get really sad,” Yev said softly, “Are you still really sad?”

“Sometimes I do,” Ian confirmed, feeling Mickey’s hand rest on his lower back, “Right now, I’m  
really happy, though.”

“Will you get really sad again?” Yev asked his voice cautious, his blue eyes curious.

“I will,” Ian said, “but I’ll always get happy again. So even when I’m sad, you don’t have to  
worry, ok?”

Yevgeny nodded as if he understood.

"My babies have arrived!" Zev proclaimed as approached them. He was wearing a 'Kiss the  
Cook' apron and puppy slippers.

"Oh come the fuck on," Ian muttered, causing Mickey to laugh and rub his back soothingly.

Before Ian knew what was happening, Zev wrapped him in a tight bear hug. The redhead held  
onto Yevgeny and didn't reciprocate the embrace with his free arm, "You are a beautiful, strong  
man," Zev stated, his voice full of emotion as he placed his hands on Ian's cheeks and stared into  
his eyes earnestly, "I am honored to know you."

Ian was so taken aback that he just looked back at him with his jaw hanging open.

"Alright, alright," Mickey knocked Zev's wrist with the back of his hand to signal for him to let  
up, "Too much, man." As soon as Zev dropped his hands, Yev replaced them, a display of  
endearment that Ian found much more palatable.

"Want to see the Yevvy and Zevvy show?" Yev asked smiling at Ian.

"Yes, of course I do," Ian replied, kissing Yev's forehead before putting him down. The little boy  
scrambled to stand next to Zev and they started to sing "Rasskazhi Snegurochka."

"Ah, the Yevvy and Zevvy show," Mandy commented with a grin, as she joined two incredibly  
confused men, a singing boy and a dancing overgrown manchild in the living room. "Missed  
you," She looped her arms around Ian's neck and kissed his cheek.

"He serious?" Ian asked, raising his eyebrows in disbelief.

Mandy shrugged, "He's funny."

"Does he mean to be?"

Mandy punched him playfully in the arm, "Doesn't matter either way, right? Makes me laugh."

Ian took a deep breath and relented with a nod.

"The salmon's done," She told Zev, gesturing with her head for the crew to follow her to the  
kitchen.

"Where's Svet?" Ian asked as they all sat down at the table.

"Should be home soon," Mandy said beginning to plate the food.

"Sit down, my love," Zev said shooing her out of the kitchen, "I will take care of this. You rest  
that beautiful tushie and let me wait on you like the Princess you are." He leaned down to give  
Mandy a kiss and patted her ass playfully.

"Anybody got a barf bag?" Mickey scoffed.

"Would you rather I be treated like shit" She asked sitting down in the seat across from Ian.

Mickey rolled his eyes, feeling that the question didn't even warrant a response, but Ian shook his  
head, "I'm glad he makes you happy," he said sincerely. If there was anything that could warm  
him to the goofy goon, it was him treating Mandy the way she deserved to be treated.

"Lemon Dill Salmon, Israeli Cous Cous, hummus, chop chop and pita," Zev said with flourish as  
he placed a plate in front of each of them.

"Looks great!" Mandy complimented, leaning over to give Zev a kiss as he sat in the seat next to  
her.

"Good, healthy fats to make Yevvy's brain nice and juicy," He said winking at the little boy, who  
was already digging into the meal hungrily.

"He eats this stuff?" Ian whispered to Mickey, poking a fork at the salmon as if it he was checking  
to make sure it wasn't going to swim off his plate.

"Really ain't that bad, looks way worse than it is," He assured Ian, resting his hand on Ian's upper  
thigh.

Ian took a bite and noticed Zev looking at him expectantly, "Do you like this?" He asked.

"Uh, probably gonna take some getting used to," Ian replied as diplomatically as possible.

"We're used to Easy Cheese and Beefaroni," Mandy stated licking some hummus off her fork.

"I don't know what these things are," Zev stated.

"Don't wanna," She assured him.

He turned his attention back to Ian, "I would love to make you breakfast tomorrow morning. What  
do you like?"

"He serious?" Ian muttered, giving Mickey a sidelong glance.

Mickey nodded, tearing a piece of pita off with his teeth, "This is how it starts."

Ian sat speechless, unsure of how to respond.

"Let us cut to the chase, ok?" Zev began, "I would like to make you my number three baby.  
Mickey has recently been demoted and I would like you to fill this spot."

"I told you not to start with this shit," Mickey warned dropping his silverware with a clank.

"Really, Mick? He's joking!" Mandy said rolling her eyes at her brother's mini-outburst.

Zev shook his head, "I am not joking."

Mandy seemed to find this funnier and started laughing into her napkin.

"I'm his number two baby," Yev said giving Ian a big toothy smile, "Mandy is number one  
because they like to kiss."

"Uh, yeah, I'm not really interested," Ian stated looking at the other man skeptically. He was as far  
from South Side as a person could get and he confused the hell out of Ian.

"I love a challenge," Zev said with a grin, "I will work for your affection. Tomorrow I will make  
you my world famous Shakshuka, it will cause your taste-buds to twerk."

Mandy was practically rolling on the floor, "He says the funniest shit, I swear."

Mickey was trying to hold back his laughter for the benefit of Ian who was looking completely  
weirded out, "Alright, shut the fuck up for a minute, me and Ian gotta talk to Yev about  
something," Mickey said clearing his throat. He looked at his son who was had hummus smeared  
around his mouth, "So, did your mommy ever tell you about people being in love?"

"Yes," Yevgeny nodded, "When people are in love they kiss like puppies, get married, and have  
babies."

Mickey's eyes grew wide and Ian punched out a laugh, "Mmmhmm sometimes. Well..." he  
paused, "me and Ian have been in love for a really long time."

"So you're married?" Yev asked confused.

"Um, fuck," he rubbed his forehead, worried that the conversation wasn't going particularly well.

He looked at Ian, then Mandy and Zev for a little help.

"Not yet, but maybe we will be someday," Ian filled in, "We're basically like best friends who like  
to kiss like puppies and play together all the time."

Mandy grinned down at her plate as she pushed around the chop chop.

"Do you understand?" Mickey asked, pretty sure that they were confusing the shit out of the kid,

"We love each other, so we wanna be together a lot. Ian's gonna move in with us. So me and him  
are going share a room and kiss and shit."

"Like puppies?" Yevgeny inquired.

"Yeah, whatever," Mickey said throwing up his hand in surrender, "Like puppies."

He turned to Ian, "So you're gonna live with me? We'll be a family?" He asked his face lighting  
up with joy, "We can play together as much as we want and you won't ever leave?"

"We'll be a family. I'll have to go to work, but I'll always come home," Ian explained, intertwining  
his fingers with Mickey's under the table.

"And your home will be here with me?" Yev clarified.

"It will be," Ian confirmed with a nod, "Is that ok with you?"

"This is the best day of my life!" Yevgeny cried happily, jumping out of his seat so he could climb  
onto Ian's lap, "So you'll help with the monsters and read me stories at night?"

"Of course," Ian laughed as Yevgeny hugged him tightly.

"And I can wake you up if I get scared?" Yev asked into Ian's shoulder.

"You gotta knock on the door," Mickey interjected, thinking of all the ways that he and Ian were  
going to scar the kid for life if he didn't.

"Anytime you need me," Ian promised, shooting Mickey a dirty look.

"Give me a smile," Zev said taking out his phone and holding it up to take a picture of the three of  
them, "I want to capture the first of many more nachas to come."

"Nachos?" Mickey asked as he took the pictures.

"Nachas," Zev corrected, "Happy moments. To many more," he said holding up his beer. Mandy  
clinked it with her wine, "We know that when good fortune favors two such men, it stands to  
reason we deserve it, too," he smiled at Mandy then looked back at the rest of the table, "To us  
and our good fortune. Be happy! Be healthy! Long life! And if our good fortune never comes,  
here's what to whatever comes. Drink L'chaim, to life!"

"To life," Mandy toasted, urging Ian and Mickey to hold up their damn drinks with her eyes.  
Mickey held up his beer and Ian his water.

"He always does this shit," Mickey informed him, "You'll learn with Zev that it's way fucking  
easier to do what he wants than to hear him bitch about it."

"Fun," Ian replied sarcastically.

After dinner Ian insisted on giving Yevgeny his bath and putting him to bed. It took him a while,  
having been suckered by the kid to read an inordinate amount of bedtime stories.

"The fuck took you so long?" Mickey groused as Ian finally entered the door to the bedroom.

"How many books do you typically read him?" Ian asked sitting on the edge of the bed and  
pulling his green sweater over his head.

"Two."

"I read eight. Told me that's how many you did," Ian said with a grin.

"Fuck, you're gonna get worked by the kid. I can see it already," Mickey said with a smirk, resting  
his hands behind his head and watching as Ian stripped off his jeans and boxers, "You still feeling  
ok?"

Ian looked back at him over his shoulder and smiled, "That you're way of asking if you're gonna  
get fucked tonight?"

Mickey licked his lips and raised his eyebrows, "Am I gonna get fucked tonight?"

"Should ask 'am I gonna get fucked all night'..." Ian corrected crawling over to Mickey so he  
could hover over him and pin his elbows down.

"Oh yeah?" Mickey asked salaciously, eyes fixed on Ian's lips, "All night, huh?"

"All night," Ian confirmed, releasing Mickey's arms so he could begin to undress him. He took his  
time, wanting to soak in every inch of his skin. It has been so long since they'd truly been able to  
relish each other's bodies, free and in love with no restrictions, tentativeness or confusing feelings,

"It's fucking impossible to tell you how much I love you," he whispered his green eyes blown  
with desire. He reached over and grabbed lube out of the nightstand.

"Show me then," Mickey said biting his lip, "C'mere," He waved Ian down so they could slot  
their mouths together, kissing with the devotion and adoration that only years of love could  
inspire. Their tongues slowly twisted and tangled as their thumbs rubbed across cheekbones and  
chins, lips unwilling to disconnect. They sunk deeper into the kiss as Ian squirted lube onto his  
fingers and dropped his hand down between Mickey's legs. The brunet's breath hitched when Ian  
swirled his finger around the tight rim of muscles and then dipped in, only to pull out and circle  
again. He continued to finger him unhurriedly, wanting to sink as deep into his ass as he was in  
his mouth. With every rotation, Mickey's body gave way, inviting his lover in. Ian added a second  
finger and began to scissor Mickey open further, catching low moans in this mouth, "I'm ready,"  
he rasped against Ian's lips, the redhead's deft fingers having made expedient work of preparing  
him. Without hesitation, Ian peeled away from his mouth so that he could adjust himself at  
Mickey's entry and push into him inch by inch.

Mickey's body shuddered around the cock that was so deliciously filling him up. His head  
dropped back on the pillow as Ian drove into him deeper than he thought was possible. Soft pants  
and stifled moans leaked into the air as Ian rolled his hips at a painstaking pace. He hooked his  
arms under Mickey's back, resting his hands on the tops of his shoulders. Pushing down gently as  
he shoved in, he breached the brunet more completely with each thrust. Ian laid his chest flank  
against Mickey's, able to feel his lover's racing heartbeat entirely within his own chest, not sure  
where Mickey's pulse ended and his began. Short fingernails dug into Ian's lumbar as he writhed  
with pleasure under the redhead's strong body. Ian was releasing his hot breath into his ear,  
whispering a litany of promises as he buried himself into Mickey's body.

"Kiss me," Mickey groaned, yearning for more. He turned his head to the side so he could nudge  
Ian off and bring him back to his mouth. Moving his hands to the nape of his neck, Ian kissed him  
with vehemence. He exhaled his exertion into Mickey, feeling his lover's hips roll up to meet him  
as he continued to fuck him deep.

"I love you," Ian promised, feeling his cock begin to throb against Mickey's walls, knowing he  
was climbing towards his climax.

"I love you," Mickey returned against his lips.

Ian pulled back so be could gaze into Mickey's beautiful face, overcome by the realization that he  
had this forever. He rocked into him continuing to probe further with every thrust.  
Mickey was coming undone under him, moaning quietly as Ian lodged himself inside of barely  
thrusting, just pushing and pulsing, giving so much pressure. Mickey never felt so full. He  
dropped his hands down to his aching cock and began to yank it as Ian worked his prostate.

"Cum with me," Mickey sighed, "Please." He needed to feel Ian like this; absorbed by his body,  
pushed into his core, emptying deep inside him. He shot streams of cum between them just as Ian  
came, the warmth spreading throughout his body with a rush. He quivered at the sensation of Ian  
being alive inside of him, bringing him to life again. He didn't want to spend another night away  
from him. He whispered into Ian's skin, "Don't leave me again."

"Never will," Ian swore breathlessly, knowing that it was a promise he would keep.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Two-a-days

There were mornings in the not so distant past when Mickey would wake up after a particularly  
vivid dream, hard and ready to get off. Grudgingly he'd settled for his hand or a toy to give him  
relief. Since Ian had moved in a month ago, pent up sexual frustration was no longer an issue. In  
fact, it was very much the opposite. They were fucking like animals, intent on making up for lost  
time, neither one of them close to hitting their limit.

When Mickey was a freshman in High School, he sporadically showed up for P.E. It wasn't  
because he gave a shit about his grades, but more due to the fact that the locker room was the  
easiest place to check out dick for his spank bank. He'd hear beefy jocks, with cocks too small for  
their cut up bodies, bitching about two-a-days. He hadn't thought too much of it until he started  
hooking up with a certain horny redhead, who'd showed him that those punk-ass pussies were the  
ones wasting their lives away jogging laps and lifting weights morning and night. If they'd learned  
what he did, they would've realized that two-a-days were fucking awesome if you were getting  
drilled, instead of running drills.

Reunion two-a-days had his body singing. From the persistent dull ache in his ass that reminded  
him of his boyfriend's perfect cock to his sore leg and arm muscles from riding Ian like a stud, he  
felt constantly destroyed in the best possible way. And fuck did Gallagher give those meatheads a  
run for their money with his enviable stamina. He treated every practice like it was the  
motherfucking Super Bowl and he was screwing for the ring; maybe he was.

On this particular morning, the score was tied up with two minutes left in the fourth quarter and  
Ian was pounding him down field. Mickey's body was flank against the bed, his cock rubbing  
against the sheets with every hard thrust his boyfriend delivered. Ian was fucking him at a  
punishing pace, pushing on his lower back with the heels of his hands as he slammed into him,

"Fuck... yes," Mickey moaned, his voice reverberating from the way his body was being worked.

"You like that?" Ian crooned, a smirk pulling up on his lips. It was obvious by the way Mickey  
was writhing and groaning underneath of him that he fucking loved it. The redhead got on his  
knees, sliding his hands off of Mickey's lumbar so he could grasp onto his hip bones and lift the  
lower half of his lover's body off the bed. After positioning himself at the perfect angle to assault  
his prostate, Ian fucked into him with a rapid rhythm that created a cacophony of skin slapping.

"Oh shit," Mickey cried, digging his fingers into the mattress until his knuckles turned white from  
struggle to steady himself. His body quaked as Ian brought him closer to the edge, "Shiiiiit." His  
voice was still wavering as he bit down on the sheets below him, a desperate attempt to muffle the  
pleasured groans that were pouring out of his mouth abundantly. The sounds he was making were  
absolutely filthy and Ian couldn't get enough of them. As hard as Mickey worked to keep it down,  
Ian put in twice the effort to make him lose control and let them go, "Right there, fuck... right  
there, Ian," he practically growled, seeing stars as Ian relentlessly drove the tip of his cock into his  
sweet spot, "I'm fucking done," Mickey sighed, his voice half apologetic as he dropped his hand  
down to his leaking cock and began to pump himself at Ian's pace. He was seconds away from  
release when a insistent knocking on the door, brought them to a screeching halt, "Mickey,"  
Svetlana's voice called, "I need to ask you something."

"Hang on," Mickey grimaced, shaking his head in annoyance. He looked over his shoulder at Ian  
who was trying to catch his breath, "Finish me off, man. I'm right there," he whispered, knowing  
it would only take a thrust or two to get him off.

"Really?" Ian asked, hips still stalled.

Mickey didn't answer with words, instead he rolled his ass back on Ian's dick, prompting his  
boyfriend to get back to it. Ian snapped his hips and pummeled his prostate and in another few  
moments Mickey was gnawing on his free fist as he shot his cum all over the sheets. He shook  
through his aftershocks, as he attempted to bring his breathing back to normal.  
Ian sat down next to him, his cock still hard and in need of his own release. He pulled the  
comforter up around his waist as Mickey put on his boxers and opened the door, "What?" He  
asked, clearly annoyed by the interruption.

Seemingly undeterred, Svetlana walked into the room and gestured for Mickey to close the door  
behind her, "I need to pay the electric bill for the Alibi and I do not have the money," She stated,  
"I am hoping you will help me out. If I do not pay by noon, they will shut it off."

"Helped you out last month," Mickey reminded her, walking over to to his dresser.

"I know this," She said clearing her throat uncomfortably, "Things are not good there. I am not  
making enough profit to cover all of our bills."

"I see that," Mickey chided, opening his wallet, "How much d'you need?"

"Bill is $84," She replied, holding her hand out so that Mickey could slap a $100 bill into it.

"You should just give the shithole back to to Kev and V," Mickey stated, tapping a cigarette out  
of the carton and reaching for his lighter. Svetlana glared at him and crossed the room so she could  
open the window. Though she made a clear gesture, she knew better than to actually say shit, not  
after Mickey had just given her the funds she needed. Without a word Mickey sat down close to  
Ian on the redhead's side of the bed which happened to be the nearest to the window. He rubbed  
Ian's back as he continued, "Seriously, you gotta get outta that place, it's a fucking money pit."

"And what do you suggest I do for work, huh?" She asked, raising her eyebrows and putting her  
hands on her hips.

"You still got two hands, a mouth, and a pussy, don't you?" Mickey asked with a sniff. He knew  
that he was poking the bear and even though he wanted her to get the fuck out of their room so he  
could suck Ian's cock, he just couldn't help himself.

"Mick," Ian warned gently, dropping his lips to Mickey's shoulder and pressing a soft kiss against  
the skin. It was the age old fight between Mickey and Svetlana and Ian was more than aware that  
it never ended well.

Mickey sighed and rubbed his forehead, trying to mitigate his frustration, "You gotta give the bar  
back. Think you fucked up your karma or some shit with what you pulled."

"I do not believe in karma," Svetlana said simply, "This is a concept that was thought up to keep  
people under control, to hold them down."

"Like communism," Mickey offered with a click of his tongue. Ian couldn't help but laugh, though  
he tried to hold it in unsuccessfully.

Svetlana looked at them completely unamused by Mickey's supposed humor and Ian's laughter  
spurring him on.

"Listen, I got no problem taking care of everything that Yev needs, keeping a roof over your head  
and borscht in your fucking mouth, but I ain't gonna keep paying towards the Alibi," Mickey  
stated inhaling deeply from his cigarette before blowing the smoke out his nose and passing it to  
Ian, "Cut your fucking losses."

"Kev loves that place, he'll probably be happy to take it off your hands," Ian reasoned, moving  
towards Mickey so their thighs were resting against one another's. Any part of his body that  
touched Mickey, seemed to tingle and pulse with electricity. He craved the connection, always  
wanting to be as near to him as possible. He'd noticed that since they'd gotten back together they'd  
both been much more comfortable showing their affection regardless of the environment. He  
wasn't sure if that was due to an increased level of ease or because they literally couldn't keep their  
hands off of each other. They were magnets, drawn to touch. Even the most mundane activities  
found them fused. While Ian made breakfast Mickey would scratch his back or loop his arms  
around his narrow waist. Movie nights meant long fingers through brunet tresses, soothing and  
sweet. There were neck rubs, shoulder kisses, stolen pecks and legs tangled together. Their  
movements were instinctive, warm and intimate as if time apart, trials and tribulations did nothing  
to weaken the intensity of their bond.

"I do not care to make him happy. Not anymore," Svetlana groused, "I did so much for them and  
they were ungrateful. I do not forgive this."

"I mean, stealing their fucking bar probably didn't make them wanna thank you for doing laundry  
with your tits out or whatever the fuck you were doing in your polygamist cult," Mickey said with  
a shrug, "You need anything else?" He asked, not so subtly giving indication that she should get  
the fuck out of their room.

She shook her head, uttered her 'thanks' for the cash and closed the door behind her.

"That was nice of you," Ian turning his body so he could begin to lick and suck on the tenderest  
spots of Mickey's neck.

"Ain't a big deal," Mickey stated, stubbing the remainder of his cigarette out in the ashtray so he  
could allow himself to get lost in the sensation of the kisses.

"I think it was really generous," Ian informed him, moving up to his mouth so he could playfully  
pull at Mickey's bottom lip with his teeth.

Mickey just hummed his response, loving to have his senses flooded by all things Ian.

"Know what else would be kind and generous?" He flirted, climbing onto Mickey's lap so he  
could scatter kisses from his cheeks to his forehead and the tip of his nose.

"What else would be kind and generous?" Mickey played along, his eyes dropping down to Ian's  
swollen cock that was begging for attention. He licked his lips at the sight of it, so strained and  
ready.

"If you let me fuck your gorgeous face," Ian said with a mischievous grin, "that would be super  
kind and generous."

"Well since I'm feeling so fucking nice lately, I don't see why not," He replied leaning back  
against the headboard as Ian stood up and straddled his legs on either side of him.

Ian didn't take it easy on him and Mickey didn't want him to. He loved when Ian went hard at his  
mouth, as it gave him an opportunity to recognize the beatings his ass took from that cock on the  
regular. As Ian's balls slapped against his chin, Mickey couldn't help but look forward to later that  
night, when his would be doing the same. Two-a-days were the shit.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Light

"Wanna go for a walk?" Ian asked watching as Mickey leaned back on the couch, sipped a bottle  
of Old Style, and rested his feet on the coffee table.

"Walk where? Fucking beat, man," Mickey replied licking his lips and looking at Ian's expectant  
face.

"C'mon," The redhead persuaded, placing his hand on Mickey's knee, "we haven't gotten out in a  
while. Been working so much. Got something to show you."

"You can show me in our room..." Mickey clicked his tongue and wagged his eyebrows  
suggestively.

"Go with your boyfriend, dumbass," Iggy chided, smacking his brother upside the head as he  
passed by the sofa, "Kid's down for the night, so I got this."

"It'll be fun," Ian said with a grin, "What's wrong with fun?"

"Fuck," Mickey groused rubbing his forehead before draining his bottle. Saying no to Ian was an  
exercise in futility; eventually he got his way, "You're not tired?"

"I am," Ian assured him, "but it's only 8:30pm on the 4th of July. We used lay on the field and  
burn blunts until like 3am during the summer. Not often that we have the same night off and the  
sky's electric- can't think of a better reason to be underneath it."

"Sky's electric because stupid fucking kids are shooting off janky bargain bin fireworks and  
guns," Mickey pointed out, groaning as Ian stood up, grasped his hands and yanked him off the  
couch.

"Let's go."

Mickey watched skeptically as Ian grabbed his backpack, slung it over his shoulders and led the  
way out the door. "Nice night, huh?" Ian commented, lighting up a cigarette and handing it to  
Mickey before sparking one up for himself. The night was hot, but lacked the punishing swelter  
that the sun had delivered earlier that day. A slight breeze cooled their sweat dampened skin as  
they headed towards to the El.

"Where're we going?" Mickey questioned narrowing his eyes at Ian, who was looking ahead,  
instead of back at him.

"You'll see," He replied, turning to give him a mischievous smirk, "Yev was cute tonight with the  
sparklers, wasn't he?"

"They scared the shit out of him," Mickey tsked, "Think he's gonna be a pussy?"

"What? Fuck... No, Mick, I don't," He punched out a laugh, "It's fire. We tell him not to go near  
dangerous shit and then we hand him a fucking fire stick. Makes sense he'd be cautious."

Mickey shrugged, "I was holding a fucking Luger at three. Kid's got a different kinda life."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Ian reasoned, "I want him to have the complete opposite from what we  
did."

"Shit's pretty good now, Gallagher," He reminded him with a lopsided grin. Ian nodded and  
dropped a kiss on his lips.

"You know I'd go through all of that bullshit again to get here, but wouldn't it have been nice if  
we never had to deal with any of it? If life would've just been fucking easier on us?"

"I don't waste my time thinking like that," Mickey stated, taking one last puff off his cigarette  
before stamping it out on the ground and jumping on the El. He slid into the seat next to Ian and  
smiled as the redhead buried his face into his neck and unabashedly took a deep inhale.

"Just want better for him," He uttered into his skin. He tilted his head up and nudged at Mickey's  
chin with his nose, asking for a kiss. The brunet laid a sweet peck on his lips and then a second  
one for good measure.

"Think we'll be able to do that? Make it better for him?" Mickey asked tentatively, surprised by  
the smallness of his voice.

"Know we will," Ian said confidently, intertwining his fingers with Mickey's and kissing each one  
of his tattooed knuckles.

"Still blows my mind sometimes that I actually give a shit," Mickey admitted, "It's hard not to fall  
in love with Yev, right?"

"Like his dad." Ian smiled, causing boyfriend to roll his eyes.

"Fucking corny," He chided, with no venom. His cheeks flushed pink as he averted his eyes and  
gazed out the window at the city lights blurring by.

They sat quietly for the remainder of the ride; hands still connected but minds off in different  
directions, lost in their own thoughts.

"This is us," Ian said nudging Mickey in the ribs so he'd stand up and exist the train.

"Northerly Island Park?" Mickey as dubiously as they disembarked, "The fuck're we doing here?"

"You'll see." He kept hold of Mickey's hand as he guided him to the top of a small, grassy hill,

"Look." He waved his free hand out at the view laying wide and open in front of them. The  
skyline was lit up with hope and possibility. Each skyscraper held its own stories, every window  
representing a different chapter. The image of the cityscape reflected on the lake, blurring the lines  
between the solid truth and a fluid illusion. Yellow lights adorned the apexes and angles of the  
hulking buildings, glistening like gold, "This was never ours," Ian told him, shaking his head  
ruefully, "This Chicago," He gestured over his shoulder, before grabbing Mickey's other hand, his  
green eyes wild with vehemence, "was never ours. Ours was broken down buildings, shattered  
windows, tossed syringes, prison, fag-bashing and stomachs that growled so loudly they kept us  
up at night."

Mickey stared at him incredulously trying to understand his intentions, "I don't..." he began but he  
was cut off by Ian squeezing his hands harder.

"Fuck this place, Mick. You love Mexico and I wanna love it with you. You, me, Yevgeny... we  
start over. We run away and chase happiness instead of waiting for it come to us in a place full of  
so much sadness. This isn't home, you're my fucking home. All I need. You want Mexico and I  
want it with you. Let's do it, leave this place behind."

"You serious, Ian?" He could feel his knees beginning to shake and weaken, overcome by the  
gravity of his statements, "I know you've fucked around with researching shit, but actually doing  
this- goin' for it- is a big fucking deal. You don't gotta do it for me. I can live without Mexico if it  
means I'm with you. I can do that." He licked his upper lip before biting into the bottom.

"Don't want you to have to. I want this. I've thought about it and I have no fucking doubt. I'll  
move tomorrow, tonight," He dropped Mickey's hands and got behind him, turning him so he was  
fully facing the skyline, "This..." he said draping his arms over Mickey's shoulder, "isn't me  
anymore."

He put his hand on Mickey's cheek so he could turn his head and capture his lips. The passion of  
his statements poured into the kiss, leaking promises down around them. Mickey exhaled the  
breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as his lover inhaled it, flooding his body with the  
loyalty he'd lacked, but Mickey had always possessed.

Mickey turned his body so he could wrap his arms around Ian's neck, pulling him back to his  
mouth. Everything around them fell away leaving only the grass under their feet and the beating of  
their hearts, "You fucking sure about this, Gallagher?" Mickey asked softly against the redhead's  
lips.

"Never been more sure of anything," Ian promised, looping his arms around Mickey's waist and  
scooting him in closer.

"You're an indecisive fucker," Mickey stated, looking into his eyes, "You can't fuck around with  
this. If I'm talking to Greer about it you gotta be in it 100%."

"100%" Ian confirmed earnestly, "This is it."

"Not gonna leave Yev, gonna have to get Svet to agree to come too," Mickey said, his whole  
body shuddering at the magnitude of the decision they were making.

"Of course."

Mickey nodded a broad grin pulling up the corners of his full lips, "We're really gonna do this?  
Mexico?"

A huge smile lit up Ian's face, more brilliant than the illuminated Sears Tower, "We're really  
gonna do this."

"Fuck," Mickey laughed blinking his eyes in disbelief.

"Think Svet will go for it?" Ian asked dropping his arms so he could shimmy the backpack off of  
his shoulders.

Mickey shrugged, "She don't got anything to lose." He watched as Ian kneeled down to unzip the  
bag, "Your family's gonna shit themselves."

"Nah, probably won't even notice I'm gone," Ian snarked, drawing a scoff of disagreement from  
Mickey, "They'll understand... and if they don't it's not gonna change anything, know what I  
want. Trust myself," He said sincerely, "Me and you. Mexico."

Mickey's felt energy course through his veins and begin to escape him as laughter tumbled from  
his mouth, "You gotta be fucking kidding me."

"What?" Ian said with mock innocence, holding up a handful of janky bargain bin fireworks.

"You're those stupid fucking kids aren't you?" He teased looking on as Ian tore open one of the  
packages and flicked his lighter so he could light it up.

"Every single one of them," Ian joked. He brought he flame to the firework and watched it  
immediately fizzle out before shooting off, "Fucking piece of shit."

"Doing it wrong," Mickey stated.

"You light the fucking thing, how could I be messing it up?"

"Got me, but you are," Mickey pointed out with a sigh.

"Give me a minute." He tore open another package and tried to set it off. It sparked a bit and shot  
a foot off the ground, surprising Ian so much that he jumped back three.

"Fuck," Mickey chuckled squatting and tugging a package out of Ian's hands, "Watch how it's  
done," he directed, pulling out his own lighter and bringing it to the firework with no success.

"Shit you're a pro," Ian huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Ain't my fault that you bought fucking duds," Mickey grunted taking the last package from Ian.

He waved the flame over the end of the firework and lifted his eyebrows when he heard a familiar  
sizzle and hiss. Without further warning a stream of sparks shot from the firecracker as it ascended  
into the darkness above them. They got to their feet, watching with bated breath, willing it to  
deploy. Just as they were ready to give up hope, streams of shimmering green painted the sky  
causing both men to howl with excitement. The exhilaration of the conversation combined with  
the 'little firework that could' had them losing their minds. They jumped on each other like they  
won the fucking lottery and rough housed like a couple of teenage boys, again reminded that  
when it came down to it, it only took one to light everything up.

Chapter Thirty: Notes

Ian entered the house and immediately started unbuttoning his uniform shirt. The August heat was  
oppressive, rendering the air conditioning on the ambulance practically useless. He headed into the  
laundry room to he toss the garment, along with his pants, into the hamper.

"May as well be naked," Svetlana scoffed looking up from the newspaper as Ian walked into the  
kitchen in only his wife beater and boxer briefs.

"Don't tempt me," He said pouring himself a glass of ice water, chugging it down and refilling it,  
"Hot as fuck out there."

"Your boyfriend came home today in a strangely good mood. I think he may be experiencing heat  
stroke," She told him nonchalantly turning the page.

"Oh yeah?" Ian asked screwing down his eyebrows, pushing out his bottom lip and nodding his  
head with interest. He loved cranky Mickey, but happy Mickey was his favorite. He took another  
sip of his water and made his way into their bedroom, smiling instantly at the sight of Mickey  
spread out on the small bed in only his boxer shorts, messing around with his phone. The brunet  
returned the grin watching as Ian placed his water down and climbed onto the bed so he could he  
could hover over him, "You look really good laying there like that," Ian complimented, planting a  
kiss on Mickey's pillowy lips. He sat up a bit so he could allow his eyes to take in Mickey's toned  
biceps, broad chest and thick thighs, "Look at this fucking body..." he crooned peppering his  
collar bone with kisses and then moving up to pay special attention to the scar on his shoulder. He  
slid his hands underneath Mickey's hips and down below the waistband of his boxers so he could  
grab onto handfuls of Mickey's plump ass, "Mmm," he moaned, squeezing into the flesh, loving  
the soft grunt that escaped his lover's lips. In one fluid motion, he rolled them over so his back was  
flank against the mattress and Mickey was sitting on his lap. Still keeping a firm grip on his ass Ian  
began to rut up against it.

"Got some news," Mickey said trying not to let the lustful look on Ian's face and the fact that he  
was eagerly humping up on him get him distracted.

"Yeah?" Ian hummed, biting his lower lip and smacking one of his ass cheeks, smirking when he  
heard Mickey's breath hitch.

"I'm serious, man," He stated with a laugh, removing his ass from resting on Ian's cock much to he  
redhead's chagrin, "It's big fucking news."

Ian sat up and looked at Mickey hopefully, "Did Greer get back to you about the transfer?"

"He did," Mickey nodded, biting his lower lip to hold back the huge smile that was threatening to  
give him away.

"And..." Ian prompted, feeling his heartbeat begin to race. He could read Mickey like a book, he  
knew it was good news.

"An agent that's in Puerto Peñasco put in for a transfer back to the states. We gotta wait until I've  
been with the unit for a year, so we're looking at February," He said his face illuminated by the  
excitement that he'd been holding in.

"You serious?" Ian exclaimed leaning in to hug Mickey tightly, "this is fucking amazing!"

"Hey, hey. Don't get too worked up. We still gotta get Svet to agree to it," Mickey reminded him,  
chuckling as Ian licked and kissed at his neck and then moved up to his lips, full of passion and  
fervor. He reciprocated the kiss for a moment, before pulling back dying to share the rest of the  
information. He picked up his phone and turned it around so Ian could see the screen, "That's  
where it is."

Ian studied the map, noticing that the little red pin was on the west side of Mexico, right on the  
ocean, and not far from the border of Arizona. It was mind blowing that they could be living there  
in a little less than six months, "Seems like a good location, right?"

"It's a fucking awesome location," Mickey confirmed. He grabbed a couple of papers off his  
nightstand, "Checked it out after Greer told me..."

"Look who's researching now," Ian teased, earning him the middle finger from Mickey and a  
smirk from Mickey.

"Don't got nerdy fucking files like your dumbass," Mickey replied. He gave Ian a ton of shit about  
all of the time he spent looking into Mexico, but secretly he loved that he was so invested, "It's a  
beach town that gets a ton of tourists, so there's a big drug trade and a lotta people speak English."

"¿Y qué pasa con mi español?" Ian pouted.

"It's still Mexico. You'll get to use it," He assured him. Ian was persistent in learning Spanish and  
Mickey found that his understanding of the language had increased as Ian got better at it. He didn't  
attempt to speak it as often as Ian did, but he could comprehend more than he'd been able to  
before, "They got a good hospital there with a few psychiatrists who speak English. If you don't  
like them, it's only two hours to Ajo, Arizona. You can get a doctor there."

Ian nodded, his eyes beginning to prickle and sting overwhelmed by how fucking thoughtful his  
boyfriend was, "I love you."

"Stop," Mickey shook his head, knowing that if Ian got started he would get him going to, "Don't  
fucking cry." He leaned closer to peck his lips, "Love you, too."

Ian wiped his eyes and smiled, "What else do you got there?" He tried to snatch the papers out of  
Mickey's hands but got his arm knocked away before he could get them.

"One thing at a time," Mickey said, "They got a private international school for Yev. They teach  
in English and Spanish. They got music and art classes, shit like that. They wear these fancy ass  
uniforms, fucking hardcore."

"Sounds like it," Ian agreed, thinking that Mickey researching schools for his kid was the hottest  
thing his boyfriend had ever done. He licked his lips and flicked up his eyebrows, "We  
celebrating?"

"I'm not done," Mickey chided, not able to stop himself from grinning. He handed a paper to Ian,  
"Look at this place."

Ian studied picture on the paper, his eyes growing wide. It was a three bedroom, two bathroom  
house that sat right on the beach, "Can we afford to rent this?" he asked skeptically.

"We can buy it," Mickey corrected, "We'll use the cash you gave me for a down payment." Ian  
cringed at the memories of handing Mickey his savings hoping it would show his love, his  
devotion when he should've shown it by going with him, "and my salary is more than enough to  
pay the mortgage."

"Shit... really?" Ian asked staring at the paper, "It's amazing!" He'd never considered that he'd be  
able to live somewhere like that.

"You like it?" Mickey asked expectantly.

"Fucking love it," Ian confirmed looping his arms around Mickey's neck and kissing him, "Love  
you."

"Svet still out there? Wanna go ask her? Make this shit official?"

Ian nodded enthusiastically.

They barreled out of their room and into the kitchen where Svetlana was still reading the  
newspaper, "It would be nice if you two did not walk around the house in your underwear," She  
stated narrowing her eyes at the half naked men.

Mickey slapped the paper down on top of the article she was reading, "We're moving to Mexico  
in February. This'll be our house. Give the bar back and tie up any loose ends."

"Are you asking me if I will move with you?" She asked raising her eyebrows quizzically, "Or are  
you telling me that I am moving with you?"

"We're asking," Ian said shooting Mickey a dirty look and rolling his eyes.

"Yev'll go to a fancy school and you don't gotta work," Mickey said plainly, pursing his lips,

"So?"

Svetlana shrugged completely nonplussed, "You will not change your mind about me working?"

"Nope."

"Fine," Svetlana agreed, "I will come. Move this paper, I am reading about triple homicide."

"It's on the beach," Ian informed her, "Did you see that?"

She nodded, "This will be very nice for your pale bodies. You will work on not getting tans."

Mickey gave her the finger and Ian patted his boyfriend's ass playfully, "bout to work that pale  
body right now," He smirked.

"Work it quietly" Svetlana directed, "I just ate and I would like to keep the food in my stomach."

"Get your big mouth a barf bag, we're fuckin' celebrating," Mickey said flicking his eyebrows up  
at Ian.

"Celebration fucking," Ian corrected, nodding his head as if he'd just said something extremely  
clever.

Though Mickey told him to 'fuck off' he laughed as Ian trailed behind him playing grab ass all the  
way to the bedroom.

*  
The tone of the conversation was far less jovial when they told Mandy and Zev their plans two  
months later. They waited until all the details of their move were worked out before they filled  
them in.

"Are you fucking serious?" Mandy cried, her voice too loud in the quiet house.

"You're gonna wake Yevvy," Ian warned, thinking that it probably would've been wise to pick a  
different time of day to tell her.

"I just got the two of you back and now you're fucking leaving," She huffed, "I can't believe this."

"It ain't like your never gonna see us again," Mickey reminded her, "You can come visit and shit."

"There's a big difference between visiting and actually watching my nephew grow up," She shot  
back.

"You could always move with us," Ian suggested, earning an incredibly dirty look from Zev. He  
cleared his throat and changed direction, "We can Skype."

Mandy just rolled her eyes and stewed in her upset.

"This is what you want, my baby?" Zev asked, surprised when both men replied 'yes.'

"He was talking to me," Mickey said elbowing Ian's ribs playfully.

"How d'you know?" Ian shot back, "Pretty sure I'm still holding up the third spot while you're  
pulling up the rear... as usual."

"You didn't just..." Mickey shook his head and narrowed his eyes, not impressed by his  
boyfriend's sly joke.

"I was talking to both of my babies," Zev cleared up, "If this makes you guys happy, it makes me  
happy."

"How can you be so fucking positive about this?" Mandy chided him.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed her on the forehead, "We will visit whenever  
you want, alright?"

She sighed and then a look of panic crossed over her face, "Are you going to miss my wedding?"

"Fucking Bridezilla," Mickey groaned, "Of course you fucking bring it up."

"Stop," Ian urged, dropping his voice lower, "We talked about this."

"Fuck off," Mickey shot back, "Knew she'd make this about her."

"So you aren't coming," She sniffled, tears beginning to form in her eyes

"Mands, we wouldn't miss it. Already have our flights scheduled. We'll be there, ok?" Ian  
promised her giving her a hug.

"Fuck, I'll miss you," She said burying her face in his shoulder. He held her tight and rested his  
nose in her hair.

"We're not leaving for another 5 months. Don't need to do this right now," Mickey complained  
rubbing his forehead and becoming more aggravated by the moment.

"Come here my baby, you feel left out. I will make you feel better," Zev said wrapping Mickey up  
in his arms. He laughed and tried to get out of Zev's strong hold as the taller man tickled his sides.

"My little brother-to-be," he crooned picking Mickey up and swinging him around like a rag doll.

"I fucking swear," Mickey spat, flicking his ear hard, "Dumb motherfucker."

"Shhh," Ian hissed, "You're gonna wake Yev."

"Maybe we should. I don't want to miss another minute with him," Mandy pouted, "Since I'm  
gonna be missing his whole life."

Ian sighed and rubbed Mandy's back, while Mickey rolled his eyes, "Mandy, we'll see you, ok?  
Calm the fuck down."

"You'll definitely be back for our wedding?" Mandy asked Ian, "Need my Man-of-Honor."

Ian reassured her while Mickey thought of how much it was going to fucking suck to do this  
whole thing again with the Gallaghers.

*

They waited until late January to tell Fiona and Lip, deciding that it would be better for Ian not to  
have to listen to their fears for months on end.

"You're fucking with us, right?" Lip asked a wry smile on his lips.

Ian shook his head, "We leave in a week."

"For good? Like, you're going to be living there...in Mexico for good?" Fiona asked, completely  
shell shocked by the news.

"Bought a house. Have Yev enrolled in school. We're going to be living there for good," Ian  
stated matter-of-factly.

"You've never been there, Ian. What if you fucking hate it? What're you gonna do then?" Lip  
asked lighting up a cigarette. His knees were bouncing nervously.

"I'll be with Mick, so I'm not gonna hate it," Ian replied, reaching over to intertwine their fingers.

Mickey squeezed his hand when he felt how it was shaking.

"This is not fucking real life," Fiona said shaking her head in disbelief, "You're not living in a  
fairytale, Ian. You have a serious disorder. You can't just run off to another country."

"You think America's the only place with fucking doctors?" Mickey snarked, unable to hold his  
tongue, "The first thing we did was look up psychiatrists. He's already set up-had his medical  
records transferred and all that shit."

"Being Bipolar doesn't make me incapable of living life," Ian spat angrily.

"You don't think a huge move like this could be triggering for you, though?" Lip asked gently.

Ian shook his head, "I can't predict how I'm gonna be." Fiona was pacing, putting her hair up in a  
ponytail, only to pull it down and tie it back up again.

"I'll take care of him. Whatever happens, I'll fucking handle it," Mickey said bluntly, "Handled it  
before, gonna handle it again. Ain't worried."

"I can't believe this," Fiona muttered, "Do you even speak Spanish? I mean, how are you going to  
talk to your psychiatrist if you don't speak fucking Spanish?"

"He speaks English," Ian replied, "And I've been taking Spanish at Malcom X. Getting pretty  
good."

"So that's the..." Lip began, the realization that Ian had been preparing for this move all along  
washed over his face.

Ian nodded before Lip finished, knowing he'd figured it out.

"So, you decided on this a while ago?" Fiona asked, voice jittery.

"Knew I wanted to move there before Mick even came back," Ian informed his siblings, "Was  
gonna make him my future even if he didn't know it at the time." He caught Mickey's blue eyes  
with his green and placed a soft kiss on his lips, "Love you," He whispered, wanting to assure him  
that nothing anyone could say would sway him or cause him to falter.

Mickey gave his hand another squeeze, wishing that they were already gone.

"I don't even know what to say," Fiona said her eyes filling up with tears.

Ian stood up from the couch so he could pull his sister in for a hug, "Say you'll visit."

Fiona nodded as she cried in his arms, "Not ready to let you go," She said softly.

"He's not dying, Fi," Lip scoffed, standing up to pat his brother on the back. He turned to look at  
Mickey, who was sitting on the couch anxiously biting his fingernails, "You got this?" He asked  
letting out a sputtering sigh.

"I got him and he's got me," Mickey stated with nod, thus giving Lip all the assurance he needed.

Epilogue: First Day of My Life

Back in Chicago, when Mickey had the day off he’d sleep as late as possible allowing his mind to  
rest, his body to replenish. He’d never imagined that the night before his free day, he’d leave the  
curtains of his bedroom open allowing the first light of the sun to wake him, eyelids cracking with  
the dawn. Hours of sleep no longer rejuvenated him as amply as being awake did, as being with  
Ian did.

He stretched his arms over his head and let out a yawn, looking up at the dark wood beams that  
stretched across the ceiling. The fan was rotating slowly, steeping the room with fresh salty sea air.  
Gazing out the glass door, he smiled at the sight of Ian’s hair blending with the layered hues of  
tangerine, peach, mango and apricot on the horizon, “It’s more incredible than yesterday’s,” Ian  
said shaking his head in disbelief as Mickey approached the chaise lounge he was laying on,

“How can something get more beautiful everyday?” He asked, palm green eyes staring up into  
ocean blues.

Resting his hand on Ian’s cheek he whispered, “I don’t know” thinking that he’d spent his life  
thus far wondering the same thing. He dipped down so he could brush a kiss onto Ian’s lips,  
painting a grin onto his mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Ian assured him, adjusting his chair so he was more upright, “C’mere.” He straddled  
his legs to the edges of the lounger so that the brunet could climb into the open space and rest his  
back against his boyfriend’s bare chest. Ian reached for a mug that was sitting on the rickety side  
table and passed it to him, familiar old habits in a new routine.

He muttered his “thanks,” and took a sip of his coffee, observing as the tide lapped at the alabaster  
sand, saturating and darkening it with every lick. He sighed contentedly as large hands massaged  
his arms.

“What do you wanna do today?” Ian asked laying a sweet kiss on his shoulder, “Take the quads  
up to Las Conchas?”

“Nah, my ankle’s still sore from some dumb motherfucker flippin’ us on Sunday,” Mickey said  
squeezing Ian’s thigh playfully.

“Fuck… who did that?” Ian asked with mock innocence, “Probably shouldn’t be allowed to  
drive.”

“Tell me about it,” He agreed with a smirk, turning his head so Ian could peck his lips, “Let’s stay  
here. Lie on the beach and fuck all day. Svet’s chaperoning Yev’s field trip to CEDO, so we got  
the place to ourselves.”

“Mmm,” Ian hummed appreciatively, tucking his face into Mickey’s neck so he could lick and  
suck at the soft skin, “We can get started now…”

“She’s probably feeding the kid breakfast right now, ain’t trying to give him a view that will scar  
him this early on,” He replied, laughing as Ian’s lips tickled him, “Quit that shit.”

“Your cheeks get pink, love getting your cheeks pink,” He flirted giving him a smattering of  
kisses on his flushed cheek.

“Alright, alright,” Mickey grumbled, ducking away from the assault of smooches. Ian took the  
mug out of his hands and rested it on the table so that he could recline further and pull Mickey  
down with him. He draped his arms over the brunet’s chest.

“Better?”

“Much.” Mickey watched as sunlight-lined clouds floated across the pale blue expanse above  
them and grinned when he felt Ian's arms wrap around him tighter, a more protective hold than the  
lazy loop of a few moments earlier. He'd spent his whole life guarding himself from the hurt that  
threatened to enshroud him. His need to insulate had never felt unnatural until he started to shield  
himself from Ian. He'd made the decision to let Ian back in many months before they moved to  
Mexico. Though they'd been rebuilding their relationship, he had to consistently remind himself to  
fight the instincts he'd developed at a young age to close off and push away. He wanted to let go  
and by the time they moved to Mexico, he was gone. It was as if crossing the border with Ian had  
started everything over, had righted the wrongs and allowed Mickey to leave his pain behind; fall  
again without worrying about crashing to the ground.

"What do you think happens to us when we die?" Ian mused, tracing hearts onto Mickey's skin.

"That's fucking morbid, Gallagher," Mickey chided, screwing his eyebrows down.

"Don't you ever think about it? Like... is heaven real? Is hell?"

"Nah, I don't think about it, stopped believin' in hell when I kept doing bad shit. Figured it was  
easier that way," Mickey stated with a shrug.

"I think we've lived through hell and are in heaven now. If it's like this when we're alive, what  
could be left for after we're dead?"

"Not gonna let you figure that out for at least 80 years," Mickey informed him turning a bit so he  
could smack his cheek playfully.

But there was nothing frolicsome about the kiss that followed. It was wrought with a deep  
dedication and unspoken promise that they'd be together, loving each other for the remaining  
decades of their lives.

The morning was spent tumbling around the bed, each man resolute to give the other as much  
pleasure as they felt in their circumstances. Their bodies moved like the waves they could hear  
beyond their bedroom walls; swelling and building before crashing together, unable to discern  
where one began and the other ended. Moans undulated as they rode through ebbs and flows,  
trapped in the undertow.

"I always want you," Ian whispered, voice low and breathy, sinking further, "Need it to be like  
this forever."

"It will be. We will be... forever," Mickey pledged, fulfillment rippling through his body as Ian  
surged inside of him. Both of their satisfaction spilling over.

For the rest of the day they alternated between the beach and the bed; sand, sweat and love  
ingrained in their rippled sheets.

They were just exiting the shower when they heard Yevgeny loudly singing "Cinco pequeñas  
ranitas con lunares" in the living room.

"He's gotta learn more songs. The fuck am I paying them for if he can only sing the same song  
over and over and over?" Mickey asked wide-eyed, not sure how he was going to survive another  
dinner with the frogs.

Ian just gave him a light spank on the ass before pulling on clean swim trunks and heading into the  
living room. Yevgeny was standing on his 'stage' which was a small area in front of the bright  
blue Kiva fireplace.

"He needs to learn a new song," Svetlana complained as Ian sat down on the striped couch next to  
him to enjoy the performance.

"Mickey's losing it too," Ian whispered to her, smiling at Yevgeny.

"We are lucky you are much more patient than the both of us," Svetlana stated with a sigh.

"Hey Crackerjack," Mickey greeted, interrupting his son's performance so he could kiss him on  
the forehead.

"Stop," Ian warned, trying to hold back the laughter that was threatening to escape his lips.

"What?" Mickey asked with an aggravated look, "When he's on the beach with Juan and Lupe's  
400 kids he's cracker status. Ain't nothing wrong with that."

Ian just rolled his eyes and clapped for Yevvy as he bowed at the end of his song, "Lupe me  
ayudó a perfeccionar mi cocido ayer, ¿quieres que lo haga para cena? (Lupe helped me perfect my  
cocido yesterday. Should I make it for dinner?)

Mickey shook his head and Svetlana stuck out her tongue.

"A Yevgeny le encanta (Yevgeny loves it)," Ian pouted.

"Well, we do not love it," Svetlana said matter-of-factly.

"Fine. One of you two can cook then," Ian said throwing up his hands in annoyance.

"Make it. It's good," Mickey lied grinning at Ian as he walked into the kitchen, "No seas imbécil  
(Don't be an asshole)," he whispered to Svetlana, who just clicked her tongue. Mickey and Yev  
went follows him in to set the table.

"¿Qué tal las clases? (How was school?)," Ian asked Yevgeny as he cut the cabbage.

"Benjamin se está metiendo conmigo (Benjamin is being mean to me again)," Yevgeny said sadly.  
"Pégale en la puta garganta (Kick him in the fucking throat)," Mickey told him, earning another  
unimpressed look from Ian, "What? He'll cut that shit out!"

"Eh," Ian grunted, thinking that his boyfriend was probably right, "You're meeting with el maestra  
(the teacher) when you get his ass kicked outta school."

"Whatever," Mickey shrugged his shoulder grabbing a carrot and taking a bite.

They ate dinner at the small table in their kitchen and Mickey persuaded Svetlana to do bath and  
bed with Yev so he and Ian could get a little more beach time before it got dark.  
They laid in the sand, Mickey admiring the plums and pinks blooming up from the ocean as the  
saffron sun made it's descent to dip below the horizon. He leaned on his elbows to take a sip from  
his can of Tecate and looked down at Ian, surprised to see him staring at him instead of the sky,

"How does something get more beautiful everyday?" Ian asked in awe, reaching up to push back  
the hair that had fallen on Mickey's forehead. He dropped his beer letting it saturate the sand, so  
that he could wrap Ian up his arms and kiss him like 80 years wouldn't be long enough. When  
they pulled apart, breathless, Mickey couldn't stop washing his eyes over Ian's body, from the top  
of his head to his toes. He looked down at feet that had only touched the streets of Chicago dug  
into warm sand and thought that maybe he'd saved Ian, too.


End file.
